You and The Rest
by gustin puckerman
Summary: UPDATED CHRISTMAS 2015. He was not the kind of saint she'd learnt about as a young girl. ― AU!Modern fic. Iceburns. Continuation from an intro on Tumblr.
1. I

**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s)  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: (_hopefully_) slow burn Hans/Elsa.  
><strong>Genre<strong>: Friendships, Drama, Romance.  
><strong>WorldStory Setting**: AU, modern times.  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13/T.  
><strong>Warning(s)<strong>: Social anxiety, abandonment issues, neurotic-traits.  
><strong>Characters<strong>: Characters mentioned are in Frozen-verse and Tangled-verse so far.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Elsa needed to learn how to communicate with other people, _especially_ around the social circle of the riches ― and then, she met Hans. Handsome, arrogant, haughty Hans. Despite disagreeing with some of his methods, she agreed to let him help her learn the ropes of socialising with the elites. And as time wore on, they might discover a simple arrangement were never as easy as they made it to be.

**Author's Note**: If you haven't checked out on the Introduction (posted on Tumblr) for this story, it will be posted on my fanfic profile.

**Musical Inspiration**: "_Take Me Home"_ by Cash Cash feat Bebe Rexha.

* * *

><p><strong>To Mrs Tan Cho Hong<strong>  
><strong><em>your patience is gold<em>.**

**I**

* * *

><p>It was June 29, within the first week of Summer 2013, and the sun was warm.<p>

He tasted like the bitter tea they had approximately an hour ago, during brunch, with their respective guardians.

(Well, him being his mother, while she had Aunt Primrose.)

Elsa didn't _know_ what was happening, couldn't even _made sense _of it, perhaps her brain was short-circuited and there was no one to blame really, except for _him_ ― the _him_ who was pushing her now, his tongue dipping in deeper, sucking on her lips like it was a piece of his favourite candy and her head was spinning because, she couldn't register _what happened ―_ she thought they made it very clear they didn't enjoy one another's company as much as the adults wanted them to ― but _God_, was she aware of it.

His hands on her hips, and his fingers digging harder against her sundress, and through the thin cotton material of her clothing, the warmth from his fingertips sent goosebumps up her spine. Elsa shivered. _I hate that stupid tea_, something in her mind barked when her mouth ― _don't_ ask her ― opened itself for him, practically welcoming his (godly) talented tongue. She remembered sitting there, cringing at the taste of the tea ― it desperately needed more (much, much _more_) sugar ― and wondered how was she going to spend the rest of the brunch without drinking, at all. Surely, it could be done.

But then his hand swept over, and she remembered snapping her attention at the sudden action, before she met with his calm face, his eyes gave an impression he was listening in (rather interestingly) to whatever his mother had to chatter, while he dumped a teaspoonful of sugar into her tea. When he pushed her tea back to her, their eyes had met, and she saw kindness in it, _respect_, a complete gentleman.

He was not the kind of saint she'd learnt about as a young girl.

Because a saint wouldn't have his lips pressed against hers, as they began to move ― he's pushing, no, _conducting_ her ― to the wall, where he had her back against it, and their bodies pressing closer together, and his mouth pressing on harder. _Oh, God_. Something in her head blared. This needed to stop, Elsa decided, having her hands on his chest, her fingertips pressing on his collarbones, and she was about to _push him away_ (she really was) when he pulled away on his own, abruptly, his lips warm and there were lipsticks smudged across it (_messily_, she may add), and his eyes were half-opened, as if he was in a state of trance, his cheeks slightly flushed, and then, because Elsa was an idiot and should've seen it coming ― he _smirked_.

"Not bad," he commented, breathlessly, dipping in to drop her a sloppy, firm kiss on her lips before he parted himself from her, taking a big, wide step away, and straightened his all-expensive vest.

"What―" Elsa gaped, _shocked_ wouldn't even begin to cover it and blinked awkwardly, as he wiped his lips, cringing slightly when he realised how _thick_ exactly her lipstick was. Her mind reeled, badly, twistingly, before she felt her own legs moved with an unearthly force, and then, because he was _insane_, she shoved him — "What _in the hell?!_"

He yelped, grunted, and caught her arms. "What the _fuck?!_ What's your fucking problem?"

"My problem? My _problem?!_" She intoned, hysterically, because this man must have not been real, and raised her voice, "Are you kidding me? You kissed me, you maniac! You. Kissed. Me." And then she had her fingers on her lips, gasping softly because _God, he kissed her_, and it's not like she hadn't been kissed before ― it was just that she didn't expect to be kissed by _him_. Him, of all people!

Hans of the Southern Isles.

"So?" He responded, sounding nonchalant.

"_So?_" She wanted to laugh, she really did, but she couldn't find the humour to the situation. "You can't just go around, insulting someone because of their personal issue―"

"Woah, I didn't _insult_ you," he scoffed, raising his arms in act of defence. "I was pointing out the truth."

"You are _impossible_!"

"What—" He frowned, "What the fuck?"

"You are rude, and impossible. You— you are—" _unbelievable_. She stopped, angry and dissatisfied and insecure, and darted her eyes away, though they still held fury. _Who did he think he was_. And then, _the nerve of him_. Regaining the cool attitude she built up so hard the past years, she said again, collectively, "You can't just _kiss_ a stranger. You— you took advantage of me."

"Strangers? Oh darling, you must have not heard my dear old mother clearly before ― _we're family now_." He mocked. "Apparently."

_Family?_ She snorted inwardly. Family would have been Anna, and her fighting spirit and her stubborn thoughts. Family would have been Rapunzel, sweet and brilliant and caring and thoughtfully insightful. Family would have been Aunt Primrose and Uncle Thomas, talking to her about colleges and prom nights and treated her as if she's been living in their house their whole lives. This man right in front of him? He was absolutely _not_ her family. Not by a long shot.

Still. "I've just met you an _hour_ ago." Give or take. "You took advantage of me."

"Advantage?" He laughed, cocking his head back, his eyes shut in complete, sheer amusement. "Any other girl would have been―"

"I'm _not_ any other girl," she pressed forward, her brows furrowing together in utter embarrassment, fury, and everything in between, because she could feel her courage slipping away, and God knew how much she needed _that_ to face this pompous prick. "I'm not. I'll never be them, I don't want to and- and―" No. No. Her voice _wasn't_ cracking now. Not now. She closed her eyes, inhaling. _Dammit_. "You can't just _kiss_ me."

He stared at her for a long time, as if he was thinking this through, and for the first time in a long time, she braved herself to match his stare ― though hers must be a weak gaze to compare with his strong, confident emerald almost-vacant look ― before his brows dropped together, a low hum emitted from the back of his throat, and he looked away ― for one second, she let herself believed that there was guilt in his move ― as he nodded, "You're right."

She didn't respond to that.

"You're... _not_ like any other girl," he drawled, glancing sideways to view her wholly, from head to toe, in one swift move. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, and crossed her arms in a defensive way — her psychiatrist used to call it '_hugging herself_' — and started to back up on her steps, creating more space between them. "Sorry- sorry—" _isn't enough_. It wasn't, at least, not in this situation, she thought. And he didn't even sound sincere. More like forced than anything. Maybe he was. It wasn't hard to tell from the looks he gave out that he'd be more than willing to just get this — _her_ — over with.

_Stop. Stop, Elsa_. _You worry yourself too much_.

_You're okay. So what if he's judging you?_

_No. No._

_He's_—

"What? _Sorry_ what?" Hans voice yanked her back from her whirling mind, and she snapped her eyes at him, his own stare fuelled with annoyance. "You know, you should learn to increase the volume of your speech, or just _speaking_ in general because not a lot of people are willing to tolerate this. Me, mainly."

"I—" _Shut up_. She screwed her eyes shut and counted back from ten.

"You _what_?"

"Can you just—"

"Yes?" He came closer, his brows furrowed together, irritated probably — _of course he's irritated_ — and fixed his gaze, on _her_. God.

Elsa felt her heart rate sped up — it drummed in her ears like the sound of the clock outside the psychiatrist's office whenever she awaited for her appointment — and her throat tightened up. But what her mind _didn't_ interpret was her arms — her hand in particular — swung heavily and her palm meeting with his cheek. _Hard_.

_SLAP!_

"What the—" He bit his lips.

She stared at her hands, grasped it — it stung — and held her breath.

"You're a freaking psychopath," he gritted his teeth, growled under his breath and rubbed his left cheek — anger lighting up in his eyes — and bit out, "What the _fuck is wrong with you_?"

"N-nothing!" She screamed back, irked beyond reason. "_Nothing_ is wrong with me!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say this, China Doll― but _normal_ people don't slap the other person's face after he fucking apologised! _Jesus._"

"I am _not_ a China Doll," she retorted, feeling the anger spreading throughout her body like wildfire.

"Not on the fucking outside you're not."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" She frowned, confused.

"It _means―_" he jabbed, rolled his eyes, and there's a whistle of annoyance while he pressured on his words. "You're a wreck. In here." He pressed his forefinger against her forehead forcefully, and his lips curled in small victory as she flinched and took a step away. "Your brain. Mentally. Emotionally. Whatever it is you prefer on calling it. You're just a complete wreck alright ― _damaged_, if you please ― because you're broken. _Inside_."

"I― I am _not!_"

"Oh yeah?" He spat, scoffing. "You're fragile, like _China Doll― _one wrong move, and you'll _break_."

"No. No, I'm not. _No_." Her shoulder began to shake, her mind suddenly flooded with other voices, whispering out all the wrong things, and her head started to blare in alarm, and it never ends. Never ends. Judgement. Fear. Insecurity. "Just stop. Stop talking. Stop. No. _No!_"

"Hey― _HEY!_" He grabbed onto his shoulders, his palm twisting against her shoulder blades, as he whirled her around and had her near the wall, where she stumbled on a root, and fell on the perfectly-trimmed bushes. _Ow_. He tried to force her to her feet, but she can't shake those voices away ― _why were there voices?!_ ― and kept hitting him, and ― "_ELSA_."

She gasped against his shoulder once she realised where she was, and who she was with. _Oh God_.

"I'm sorry, alright. I'm _sorry_." He muttered instead, his sitting posture wasn't proper, an evidence her small episode had shook him more than he'd anticipated. If she were in a better circumstances, she might even consider to smirk. She didn't. She held him instead, one arm went under his armpits up to his back, grabbing on the fabric of his vest. His jaw was by her left ear, just _hovering_ over it, and he had a hand on the wall, the other went behind her back, keeping her from blending it completely with the grass. And he was _so close_.

"I shouldn't have kissed you ― I got it ― _goddamn_. Just," he breathed harshly, his thumb absent-mindedly kneaded against her back. "Don't _freak _out like that again, okay? I won't― I'm _sorry_. For the things I said, too. I'm a dick ― it's supposed to be a well-known fact ― and you were supposed to just, I don't know... don't mind it as much, I guess. I didn't know it'll bother you as it did. I- I _apologise_."

She hiccupped, and let his words sunk in ― his hot breath may or may not have been hitting a little of the side to her neck.

She didn't blush.

"I... I apologise as well."

He finally took the initiative to create some space between them, pulling them out of the bushes, but still sitting down on the ground. She let him guided her, his hands now at the back of her arms, gently prodding her to follow his lead. "I shouldn't have slapped you."

"Yeah, well." He brushed off some dirt from his pants once he sat down. "We're not all angels today. Whatever. It'll pass."

"But it _wasn't_ okay."

"It wasn't, I agree. But why do you care?" He scoffed, narrowing his eyes.

"Because, well―" she licked her lips, her mind's reeling all of a sudden. "That's not proper, how we treated each other. Even if ― um, you and I aren't in the... _best_ term."

He stared at her for a while, just _stared_ at her, his eyes squinting up like he's seeing something that wasn't there before and she tried to avoid his gaze. A molester _and_ a creep. Great. And then, he brought a hand up, pointing: "Just _how_ inexperience are you with socialising? _Honestly?_"

She's about to open her mouth, before she covered it ― _quickly_ ― with her left hand. "You're not going to kiss me the second time, are you?"

Hans snorted and rolled his eyes, "Don't flatter yourself." He put his hands behind his back, and leaned onto it. "The answer, please."

She lets out a huff, and lowered her hands ― only then brushing away any fallen hair. Gosh, Auntie would have certainly not like it if she ruined the hairdo. It wasn't anything special with braided hair and a bun, sure, but still. She twirled a strand of hair. "Whatever you're thinking of, it probably might even be worse."

"No," he told her, shaking his head defiantly. She frowned. "You're holding up a conversation with me. Right now."

_After I had two panic episodes? Yeah, okay_. "It's not the same," she shook her head.

"How come?"

"It's―" she bit her lips, and rubbed her neck. "You're talking about a big crowd here. Events. Parties. I can't― I can't _do that_."

"What is there to do? You chat up with people and you eat. You're supposed to enjoy yourself."

"Yeah, that's true but, how about ― you _know_ ― what they thought of you? _After?_ You just― don't you― _I don't know_, just thought of it? They're going to― I could tell, you know, whenever they just, _look at me_. It's― I can't―"

"You worry about what other people thought of you?" His question made her realise how silly she was. Of course she was. She's a complete fool. God, God. "Hey, hey ― breathe, will you?" His voice cut through again, and she snapped her attention at him. His eyes didn't hold humour, but there was no threat it in either. She relaxed, slightly. "So, okay, you got a problem. That's okay. I mean, if you could put up with _me_, right _now_, I think there's nothing you can't do. I mean, by the way you reacted to my kiss, I think you could hold yourself up pretty well."

She frowned ― and thought about it. And then: "Wait ― is that why you kissed me? You were _testing_ me?"

"You make yourself sound like a lab rat. I'm not _that_ cruel. Been there, done that." He waved the issue away, shrugged his shoulders. "I just wanted to see what you would do. You're a good kisser, by the way. Could use a little work, but hey ― nobody's perfect."

_I'm― I'm a good kisser?_ She touched her lips gingerly.

"Say what, I'll offer you a deal." He picked on a grass blade by his side, plucking it and tore it pieces by pieces.

Her brows furrowed deeply. "A deal?"

"A proposal, if you may." He kind of smirked, a glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes and brightened up the emerald iris, but she wasn't so sure. Perhaps it was just the afternoon soon reflecting back against his eyes. Perhaps. "I'll help you."

"H-help?"

"Yes. With your _socialising_ problem. I know everybody who is anybody. I can get you into the crowd. We can go to parties, events. You can mingle, _get comfortable_. Actually have fun. It's all in everyday's routine, really." He drawled, brushing his flaming red hair from his face. "It'll be good for you to start establish your presence in the society. Thomas and Primrose Corona aren't just any name. And if you're their niece, I could only imagine where you stand..."

"M-my... My father was Agðar Arendelle." She swallowed, and avoided his gaze ― _reaction_ ― by looking at her side, where she walked, a few minutes ago, from Hans' older brother's workshop. She never told anyone this; ― never really had any reason, chance or place ― her parents, or their deaths, were never a subject of conversation. If it were, she wouldn't be the one who brought it up.

"Wait ― _the_ Agðar Arendelle?" Hans sounded amazed, completely.

She found the courage to study his face ― lips parted, eyes wide, he must be in a complete shock ― and chewed her lips. "You knew my father?"

"Knew? Yeah, I knew him. _My_ father couldn't stop talking about him. He practically worshipped that man. I was always confused by his comments, I mean, I never really understood whether he praised Agðar Arendelle or was jealous by him. I guess it was both." There's an easiness there as he explained, and even though it hardly mattered, an enormous weight which seemed to drag her whole body down disappeared, but only in the littlest amount. "I remember meeting your father ― I was just a boy, barely seven years old. He came to our house, I think we were celebrating one of my brothers' ― the twins ― birthday. I remembered him carrying a baby ― redhead, quite chubby―"

"That would be Anna." Elsa interrupted. "She's my younger sister... My only sister."

"Hmm. Must be a paradise," he hummed, tilting his head to one side as he dragged his feet across the grass. "Your father was an incredible professor. And aside from that, a successful businessman. Your mother too, correct?"

Elsa nodded. "She was the business-oriented one in our family. She joined Aunt Primrose on the business, and later dragged Papa into it... So..."

"Right. That must be nice." Hans nodded, "Arendelle. Wow." He whistled.

"It's not that fancy," she admitted, brushing another fallen hair behind.

"Not fancy? You must be joking." Hans laughed ― a short, deep chuckle ― and shook his head. "Now that I _know_ who you are, you absolutely do need my help."

She looked at him carefully, and licked her lips. "I don't think so..."

Hans didn't look offended, "Are you not even going to consider it?"

_I don't know_. She shrugged helplessly. "I think we should go." The sun really was starting to burn her skin. She rather didn't like summer so much. Winter, however...

"Wait―" He called, but Elsa was already on her feet and began to move, hugging her whole body. His words drummed into her head, again and again and again ― _parties, events. Socialising. Mingle. Isn't another name_. But ― what would they think of her? She'd ruin it all. Everything. Reckless. Messy. Out of place.

His long strides caught up with her rapid ones, and he walked besides her, oddly in silence. She let him be.

It wasn't until they were near the entrance to the Main House that Hans stopped her, his long fingers encircling around her elbow, spinning her around. She flinched as a protest, and chewed her lips when she looked up. Hans stared down at her, his hands still grasping on her arm, and she was shocked to find that there was no sneer in his look. "Look," he said. "It's a great deal I'm offering you right now. And obviously you need help. And I _do_ know people, I'm not lying about that." He finally pulled his hand back, but his face remained serious as ever. "And I know I may look reckless, but when I commit to something, I'll do it. Whatever it takes. And I'm willing to commit ― to _you_."

She drew a breath in, and didn't dare to speak.

"So, if you change your mind ― you know where to find me." He ended it, left it hanging there for three milliseconds, before he breathed out, seemingly satisfied and turned away.

"Wait," she finally managed out, her mind's in a complete jumble. God, this is too much to take. "W-where are you going?"

"I have to go. Send my apologies to my mother and Mrs Corona." He yelled over his shoulder, appearing nonchalant. "Tell them it was truly a lovely arrangement, but I just _have_ to go."

"You―" Her eyes glanced around, silently seeking for help. "You can't _do_ that!"

She thought she saw him smirked ― but he didn't turn around, and she honestly didn't expect him to stay.

* * *

><p>"So, how was he?"<p>

Elsa skidded her third step up the stairs, as she spotted the all-too-familiar strawberry-blonde hair at the bottom of it, a teasing smile lighting up her eyes. Elsa, despite the anxiety and the tiredness still haven't completely been washed away from all of her limbs, smiled. That was, before her sister's question was finally registered to her tired mind, and she furrowed her brows in confusion. "How was who?"

"Hans of the Southern Isles."

Wait. "_What?_"

"What?" Anna echoed, confused. "I'm not wrong, am I?"

"How do you know that?" Elsa came down the stairs hurriedly, rushing to her sister, concern driving her steps― because this can't be happening. "Do you_ know him?_"

No. Anna _can't_ know him. _Oh God, have they met?_ Elsa couldn't fathom it. She was going to _murder_ that bastard. Her sister was off-limits. _Off-limits_. At least, she was, to _him_. Elsa knew what Hans was capable of ― well, _enough_, from what she saw that morning, during the brunch; what, with all the girls around his arms, and the rude remarks he threw her way when they were alone. If there was one thing Elsa could chalk Hans up to ― he was not the guy Elsa would ever, _ever_, allowed Anna to meet.

"Whoa, whoa― _what?_" Anna took Elsa's arms that were reaching out to her, clasping it and drawing it away. "No, I don't know the hunky bachelor that is Hans of the Southern Isles― although I'd like to. Very much."

_No. No, you don't_. Elsa withdrew her arms, frowning. "Then, how?"

"Elsa, there _are_ things called _Google_, you know." Anna joked, crossing her arms over her chest. "I checked him out after Auntie told me where you two were heading. She didn't tell me _who_ you were meeting with, of course, but you know. _Google_." Anna pulled out her phone from her denim jeans and began trace her thumb down the screen, scrolling it down. "You know, for someone who spent the majority of her time in _front_ of a computer Elsa, you sure look like you're from an era where people have never _invented_ it―"

Elsa sighed, "Anna, I don't think it's wise for you to check on―

"Hey, did you know that he have twelve older brothers? I mean, like― _twelve_. That's a lot, right?" She whistled, her thumb continued to scroll down the screen of her phone. "Like, speaking of _full house_, huh?"

"Anna―"

"See, I figured you were meeting the youngest of Andersens, although it seems unbelievably impossible because those brothers are practically _untouchable_ according to this one website because the brothers were exclusive and all and seriously, thirteen hot Andersens - you don't see that everyday― _aaaand_, I'm clearly getting out of topic." Anna offered a mischievous grin, to which Elsa could only stared at, harbouring a faint smile and suppressing a tired sigh. Sometimes Anna's enthusiastic energy could came off a little too strong than Elsa could honestly handle. Anna was peppy and exciting and was always running around ― and sometimes, Elsa guessed, all she needed was some peace and quiet.

But, she guessed, at the same time, she liked that about her sister. Unlike Elsa of course, the strawberry-blond wasn't a _boring_ character you'd come across. And she won't clam up and shut herself out and sweat herself down if she's meeting someone new. No. Anna won't.

Elsa, on the other hand...

"Anyway," Anna's demanding voice snatched Elsa's focus, and she was glad when Anna missed the slight shook her body had as her attention was ripped from her. "I _knew_ you weren't meeting the twelfth brother, because he's in Australia, for a week now. The eleventh brother is currently out of town. That one tweets a lot ― like, seriously, all of the time. Oh! There you go, another tweet. I follow him, by the way. _Ooooh_, that's a very interesting lunch. You know, sometimes I don't understand how he can make everything he tweets sound _so_ interesting like it can be about normal, everyday―"

"Anna." Elsa pressed on, impatience getting the best of her nerve.

"Right. Sorry. Well, continue on, shall we? Let's see..." Anna bit her lips, screwing her eyes up at the screen of the phone, "I know Auntie couldn't possible be arranging your meeting with the tenth brother, because right now he's actively dating this tennis player that's going through some anger management issue to which she confessed on after she beat down a paparazzi but let's not get into that. So. Really, that just leaves me with the last option.. _Hans_." And then, as an afterthought, she added, "Oh, and I didn't mention the rest of the brothers because they're way too old for you."

"Right." Elsa hummed, shifting her head just slightly to the side. "Your point?"

"Are you seriously not going to give me some details? I mean ― _Hans of the Southern Isles_. He's voted _The Sexiest Man Alive_ as of the last issue of Disney MAGs, placing the first ― and this was the _third_ magazine he's in just last month." Anna put her phone away ― _finally_ ― and blinked up at her sister. "_So_ ― how was he?"

"How..." Frankly, Elsa was still confused. And not just by all of the information Anna just supplied to her ― but the mere incident just earlier. Now that her dear sister was constantly repeating the other man's name, she couldn't help the memories from filling through ― the panics, the kiss, the offer. She gulped. "Honestly, Anna, you can't trust everything you read."

Anna's excitement flickered in doubt for a second. "Why is _why_ I'm asking you how was he in real life― did he do something _wrong?_"

Wrong? Yes. In six different ways. _But_― Elsa sighed. "No, no he didn't―"

"Then, what's with the long face? He _did_ something to you, didn't he?"

"He―" Elsa paused, and felt her breath caught up in her throat when Anna was looking at her _that_ way ― like she was _accusing_ her of lying, even though she's probably right, and knew Elsa wouldn't admit to it. So, Elsa dropped her gaze to the wide hall behind Anna's head and chose her words, _carefully_, "He... he offered me..."

"What? A one night stand?"

"No!" Elsa gave Anna a sharp, warning look ― to which the strawberry blond replied with a sly grin. "It was nothing like that. At all."

"So, like, what ― he offered you _friendship_? Is that it?"

Elsa thought of it, and decided on: "Yes. Something similar to the concept."

"Well, what did you say?"

"I- I said―" Elsa scrunched up her nose, and her mind went back to when he was standing just a few inches away from her, his posture big and wide, could've enveloped her easily, but he _stood_ there, and his deep voice went on, pressing on the deal. On what he wanted to offer. On what she could have had, if she wanted it. The platinum-blonde beauty looked back at her sister, her anxiety rushing through her nerves, "Well, I didn't give him a definite answer."

"Why not?" Anna asked ― like the situation was as plain and easy as ABC. Sometimes Elsa wished it was.

"He― he appeared sketchy to me." Elsa bit her lips, her shoulders sagging. "I don't really like him."

"Elsa, I know it's old-fashioned, but you can't judge a book by it's cover."

"I know―"

"Give that guy a chance. Who knows― maybe he could just surprise you. People tend to do that, you know. I mean, if you find out that guy's just screwing you over ― you can always just put your foot down and walk away. It's not going to be the end of the world. But, until then, and I seriously hope it won't come down to it, why don't you... you know, just give it a _try_. Nobody's just ever what they appeared to be... Like I said, give him a chance." Anna smiled, her rosy cheeks lifting up, and for that _one_ moment, Elsa complimented how Anna shared so much of their mother's smiles. "Plus, wouldn't it be just cool to say '_my sister is totally friends with Hans of the Southern Isles_'?"

Elsa rolled her eyes, chuckling― but accepted her sister's statement; her own statement was pushed far down that she almost (_almost_) forgot about it.

_Surprise me? _

_Anna, you have _no_ idea_.

* * *

><p>It was a windy night for Summer.<p>

She was drowning in reports and paperworks ― _literally_ ― and was staring at her ceiling when she decided it. The realisation ― or, as she decided it would be, _the_ _decision_ ― came to her like the feeling after she was done with a book. It wasn't an immediate response, but her mind had been dwelling over the matter since yesterday, since he extended that offer to her, and now she was finally piecing it all together. Like a book - the way the ending gradually settled itself in your knowledge, the way it spread throughout your body until you finally decided that _yeah, that's it_. So she moved like the force of the hurricane report she read over all of the others that was scattered across her bed; her steps were definite, and solid, and _there_.

She shrugged a cardigan over her dress, grabbed a key on her table, counted her steps down the stairs, and noted the sound her car made when she pressed the right key.

It was when she was behind the steering wheel and the engine was roaring that doubt began to seep in ― she drove faster.

* * *

><p>She saw him almost immediately.<p>

Cars were parked everywhere throughout the drive-through that it almost covered most of the main ground to the Main House, but it was unmistakably the _Southern Isles_ and Elsa dared herself not to turn around, to consider the easier way out. She managed to park her car somewhere in between all of the mess, and marched up to the Main House, as most of the noise and the lights came from there ― when she finally spotted it.

_Him_.

He was wearing his infamous smirk, his eyes half-focused and glassy, but there were _emerald_ and glinting ― just as how she remembered him to. He was leaning against a car's side ― Elsa doubted it was his ― and there was a girl pressed up against him. The girl was tall and skinny, her shoulder bare and her legs might have been stretching out _forever_. She must be a model, Elsa thought ― the girl looked so much like one. But then again, what did Elsa knew?

Biology. Geography. Science. That she knew. She studied. How appropriate was a height for a model? _That_ was another piece of information she hadn't considered knowing.

Suddenly Elsa was gripped with a terrible sense of uneasiness, eating on her legs and arms and neck and face. She reflected back on her simple peach-colored dress, her worn cardigan, her messy bun that she tied in a hurry and her shoulders began to shake. No. _No_. She's not having this now. Not right here.

Elsa dragged her legs across the clean-cut grass, and shakily stalked up next to Hans ― who seemed too entranced by the Maybe Model to even notice the reality they were walking on — while he tilted his chin a degree up, giving access to the Maybe Model to dip her lips right at his pulse. Speaking of gross.

Elsa cleared her throat. "E-excuse me?"

"The bathroom's right down the hall to the right." Shooed Hans with a clip, husky and breathless voice while the Maybe Model seemed to be enjoying her time, taking his rudeness as an entertainment and smirked.

Elsa rolled her eyes, for the first time her frightfulness leaving her skin replaced with a dreaded awareness towards annoyance. "I wasn't searching for the bathroom," she snapped, trying her best to not regret her words. "I need to talk to you, right now, Hans."

But clearly he wasn't listening because a second later, Elsa watched the way Hans' hands gripped the Maybe Model's waist harder, their hips grinding together, while the Maybe Model giggled, changing their angles and Hans groaned. Okay. _Speaking of double gross_. Elsa scrunched up her nose in disgust, pursed her lips and steadied her breathing — _she can do this. Of course she can. She's her father's daughter. The heir to his throne_. _She can do this, surely_.

Elsa didn't know what happened — she was pretty certain she saw black dots over her eyesight when it all went down — but her hand found his arm even though the Maybe Model shielded him from her, and she tugged on it. _Hard_.

_Oh_, she pondered for a second. _This seems familiar_.

He yelped, and growled — in the horrible way that sent an alarming signal of _you probably shouldn't have done that ― _but Elsa stood her ground. The Maybe Model faced her now, obviously not enjoying the fact her 'alone' time with The Sexiest Man Alive in the last issue of whatever magazine it was, was interrupted, and she glared. Elsa held her stare for two millisecond longer before she turned to him, pulling on her own frown even further, "It's me. Elsa. Of Arendelle."

Hans, who was spitting curses to the Maybe Model's neck, looked up, his eyes suddenly wide and filled with pure surprise. "Arendelle?"

"Yeah, remember me?" She swallowed, her strong intonation began to slowly crumble. She could _hear_ it.

Hans looked like he was considering her, his eyes trailed over her whole appearance for one short second. And then, he blurted out: "You came back."

She let a beat passed. "I did."

The Maybe Model grew impatient and pushed her palms over Hans' chest, her glossy lips pouting. "Baby," she cooed, "I thought we were in the middle of something..."

"Maribella, please—"

"It's _Maria!_" The Maybe Model snapped.

"Close enough, darling." Hans landed a kiss over her cheekbones, straightening his posture and separating his body from _Maria_. Elsa was looking away at that point — because if she didn't, she's certain she'll faint (_Maria's_ harsh glare seemed like a spotlight was shining on her and _God,_ she didn't need _that_) — her nails sinking to the base of her own, sweaty palms. _I must look horrendous_.

"Elsa?" His voice brought her attention, and Elsa found herself staring at his emerald gaze. She swallowed.

"I..." She began, paused and cleared her throat. _C'mon, just say it_. "I came here to accept your offer."

"You did?"

"Y-yes."

"Hans!" _Maria_ squeaked, stomping her foot — her hands reaching out to the man. "Who is this girl? Is this the new girlfriend I've been hearing about? You told me there were no other girls!"

Elsa lifted one eyebrow up daringly, but Hans must have not noticed when he was busy trying to pry _Maria's_ skinny fingers off of his body. "Maria, honestly, I'm trying to have a conversation here."

"I don't like her," sneered _Maria_ hatefully, dragging her sharp eyes all over Elsa — and Elsa felt the way her stomach churned drastically, practically pulling on all of her organs. _She'll puke if this goes on, she swears_. "Must have been one of your mistakes, huh, baby? Need me to tell her off for you?"

"Maria." Growled Hans again, his eyes furrowed dangerously in silent fury. "_Please_." It was a good thing _Maria_ was intelligent enough to not go against what Hans said, even if she seemed to pout even more and cursed something very, very inappropriately under her breath, because there was something almost dangerous flicking in his emerald eyes that sent shivers down Elsa's spine. And not in a good way. The man in question huffed, tugged on his shirt firmly before fully facing her, his eyes scanned over Elsa's face, as if it was the first time he's taking her presence in, which was odd because they _have_ met before, the element of danger gone from his eyes, just mild interest. She wondered what was going through his mind. Her stomach twisted achingly. And then, he smirked, proud and beaming. "I'm _so_ glad you're here."

"I—" _I'm not_. Elsa kept it in. "I'm here just to tell you that. That's all."

"And I'm pleased that you did. You look absolutely stunning."

Elsa frowned up at him — _you must be joking_. His eyes sure glinted, but she wasn't sure if it was in mockery or merely pleased, as he said. Elsa decided it's not wise to look straight in his eyes any longer than necessary. "I should retire now."

"Wait— you can't go now." Hans' fingers were on her elbow again, just like it was yesterday, and he gave a gentle squeeze. If she wasn't aware of it, she might have not even notice it. "Elsa."

"I need to—"

"I'm having a party at the backyard. Nothing too big. Just friends hanging out. You should stay." He hiked one eyebrow up, grinning mischievously. "It could be our first lesson together of sort."

"You're drunk," noted Elsa dully.

"Not enough apparently, because I can still see every lashes on your eyes."

"Hans, I don't think—"

"C'mon. Stay. You'll enjoy yourself," he wrapped one arm across her shoulder, flushing her closer to the side of his body as he drifted them towards where the party must be held. Elsa felt her stomach dropped and her throat tightened up.

"Hans— where are you goi— _baby!_" Maria yelped, and Hans waved his hand simply.

"Maybe later," he told, and directed them back to where he was going, before he leaned in and bumped his jaw softly against the top of her head. "Relax, okay?" He dropped his arm from her shoulders, but let his fingers hovered behind her arm, just to assure to her that _he was there_, probably, as they stirred from the Main House to what he claimed to be a 'short cut' to the backyard. As they climbed the grass and the slight hills of the Southern Isles, the music and the noises of the party were getting louder.

Elsa swallowed.

She turned around just in time to see the corner of Hans' lips was lifted slightly upwards, towards _her_, like a token of confidence he's landing to her before it was ripped away when a random sandy blond girl came, shouting first, grabbed him by the collar and pushed her lips against his. Elsa watched in disgust and tore her gaze away — sighing inwardly.

No.

He was not the kind of saint she'd learnt about as a young girl — but in this case, he'll do.

* * *

><p><strong>First End Note<strong>: I _know_. It sucks. I've tried my best though. There you go, my first attempt at writing an AU!Frozen fic. I'm not very confident with this — haven't been confident with myself lately, to be honest — but, I don't know. If you find yourself at lost of the plot, somehow, check the Author's Note on the top^. Thank you.

**Second End Note**: I'm limiting my words to every chapters, if I decide on continuing it, to 3,000 words (the least) and 4,000 (the most) — but if I go overboard, then I apologise. The words to this chapter is **6, 735 **(for future references). And as for naming the characters — for _Primrose_ and _Thomas Corona_ (which were Rapunzel's parents) and _Agðar_ and_ Iðunn Arendelle_ (which were Anna and Elsa's parents), I checked the Disney Wiki. Hans' mother, however [introduced in the Intro] is a made-up name. For Elsa's dress preferences, I just really looked up to whatever _Quinn Fabray_ [a character] from _Glee_ wore, because I think her choice of wardrobe would be the most suitable to Elsa's choice of clothing.

**Last End Note**: Edited on 2/14/2014, 7:48 PM.


	2. II

**_"S_**ure, everything is ending," Jules said, "but not yet."  
>― Jennifer Egan, <em>A Visit from the Goon Squad<em>

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><p><strong>II<strong>

* * *

><p>.<p>

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_Sure,_  
>(when you put it that way)<br>_everything is ending..._

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_but not yet_  
>(not when it's just started)<p>

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There's a nag to her chest as she closed the door, twisted the knob to make sure it really was. _Closed_, that was. She did not lock it ― because for one, it was not her room. She only wanted to close the door to give the impression that the room was taken, occupied, and not to be disturbed. For second, locking the door would mean, in some way, she was _trapped_. And though Elsa wasn't particularly claustrophobic, she _had_ promised her sister that she won't lock herself in a room, _ever_. Not since, as Anna called it, the "Great Elsa Depression" where she'd be keen on thinking that separating herself from her only sister was the only choice left on the table. No, she would not dishonour Anna's wish. Not after they've gotten so good in their relationship. And she would sit better knowing there's always a way out if she wanted to.

So, she closed the door.

...

Elsa didn't know how long she was in that room.

There wasn't a clock in sight as she sat gingerly on the bed ― well, there _was_ one but it was clearly broken, sitting by the bedside table along with the mess of books with _Accounts & Financing, What's The Deal With Business Right Now?, Business 101_ and a worn _The Old Man and the Sea _― and glanced around. This room looked clean. Well, clean_ enough_. The bed was made, that was sure, and wasn't disturbed except for the new lines and wrinkles formed when she sat down. She was tempted to just lie on her back, shrugged off this tiredness from her limbs and fell victim to the monster that was sleep. Honestly, she couldn't remember ever feeling this tired, not even when she was forced to work 'till dawn just to finish various of reports and satisfied the bitter whispers of _this wasn't enough_.

She didn't mean to stay here.

Wait. No. What she must meant was ― she never meant to come here.

_Southern Isles_.

She remembered how it looked under the sun. The green grass tickled the side of her outer calves, the trees that surrounded the perimeter, the old workshop and the forgotten, almost invisible trail that should lead up to it. If she tried hard enough, she might even see the whole land as a place of adventure. She wondered if Hans ever thought of that ― or if he did, had he ever pretended he was away from the reality, in a world of his own, when he was a young boy.

But then Elsa stopped because ― of course he had. A few moments ago he was busy trying to get _swallowed_ by a woman to forget that he was indeed living with the rest of the human population on Earth.

And now, where was he? Only God knew.

All that she knew was that he dragged her to the party, comforted for about _three_ minutes when she started to merge herself with the wall while she argued that "this wasn't just friends hanging out!" because it _wasn't_, she was sure the whole possible frickin' country was at his backyard, and "where on _earth_ was your mother anyway and why isn't she seeing this" and then he told her to "stay here, don't go anywhere, I'll get you something to drink" and then he swooped pass all the dancing crowds and sweaty bodies and then, he was gone.

Gone, for the next fifteen minutes.

Elsa gave up on waiting then, turned her body against the scene of the party and leaned heavily against the wall, her cheeks gracing the smooth texture, sighing. He must have got caught up with everything as it now seemed as though the whole event was getting noisier and messier than ever, she guessed. She sighed again before she started to move away, getting lost in the whole building until there was barely anyone in the room except for a couple making out on the couch. Once she found the stairs, she headed up, no turning back now, and found herself an isolated room.

And that's how she got herself here.

She wondered why she never just turned on her heels and go home. Just like that. She had her car. No one would stop her. And the keys were with her, right in her grip. If it wasn't, in the pocket of her dress. She could just _go_.

But then she didn't.

What was _wrong_ with her? It must be this whole night. Or the dinner. She _knew_ she wasn't supposed to skip it. God knew how Kai could only worry for her. Or Anna ― she could still hear her sister's pleas as she twisted the knob and swung the door open, asking, "Hey, are you sure you don't want to eat? It has vegetables. I know how much you like them."— she must have gotten Anna so worried. Or maybe she's not thinking straight because of that _man_. Hans — even his name burned like sin across a holy skin. Him, and his posture and leering smirk and his devious eyes and his oh-so-tempting offer. She'd let him got to her — her nerve, her head, her _brain_. And now she was here, simply stuck.

_Or maybe_, something whispered, _you __just __weren't ready to go home_.

Elsa stared at the floor, finally letting her shoulders dropped. It was at that moment, with the rhythmic thudding sound of the music coming from the party echoing in the background, and her own breathing in sync with those, that she realised how alone she truly was. At least, in this big ol' world. Five years forward, she would have been alone, carrying her father's name, shoeless, in some nameless' person room, hiding from the rest of the world, while they're all enjoying each other's company; Anna would probably be making new friends, Rapunzel would be off chattering and sharing her interest with the world, and she would have been with the shadows — alone.

Elsa resisted her stomach from churning too much and released her non-existant dinner.

The door swung open unexpectedly. "Oh."

Elsa snapped her head so quickly, she thought the world spun. There, by the door, was a man. A _handsome_ man. Slight tan skin, thick raven brows and icy blue eyes, but not like hers. He was wearing a black jacket over a plain, v-neck white shirt. He looked simple, sorta out-of-place from the party that was going on, but based on the smudge of lipstick by his jaw and the stain hidden ― but not quite ― on the hem of his white shirt, Elsa concluded he was one of the guests. And then, the man smiled, revealing a set of matching, deep dimples by his cheek to which Anna would have squealed at. "I didn't know my room is currently occupied." He calmly commented, the humour present in his sentence.

And then ― "What?" Elsa quickly stood, shaking her head lightly. Did he just said _my_ room? She swept a few fallen hair away, darting her eyes nervously, "I- I didn't realise―"

"Hey, it's fine." The man held out his hand and waved it away, the lightness of his move somehow eased the tension brimming in Elsa's nerves. God, what was she _thinking?_ "It's always a pleasure to see a beautiful girl alone in your room appearing out of nowhere at 11PM right?"

_What? _Elsa stared.

The man chuckled, his dimples deepening. "I'm sorry. That was very uncalled for. I shouldn't have―"

"I'll leave," Elsa cut him off defiantly, _leave this room, leave this place_. If she's lucky, she could just 'leave' this night and never re-visit it, ever, again. Hans surely won't waste his time chasing her down, would he? No, he won't. He's not the type to go after girls. Girls go after _him_. After all, wasn't he the sexiest man on earth, or whatever according to that nameless magazine?

"Oh no. That's fine. Stay." The man told, smiling still. Under the thin sheen of sweats covering his face, Elsa saw the way the night had its work on him. He looked a little flushed, his eyes glinting with the excitement from the party. It must be. "You're here alone? Are you waiting on someone?"

"Not really," Elsa shrugged, her eyes glancing at the carpet underneath her shoe, her right hand rubbing her left elbow.

"Not really?"

"Not anymore," she told, choosing her words carefully and dared herself to face him, blue eyes to blue eyes.

He looked like he was considering her answer, a slow hum emitted from the back of his throat and he let out a quiet, "Ah," an indication that he understood her information and accepted it, before he tilted his head slightly to one side, his thick brows furrowed in confusion, his lips munched in an untypical fashion. "He left you?"

She frowned forcefully, unhappy and slightly irritated, because how could he just _assumed_ that ― she wasn't particularly obvious, was she? ― even though in a way, he was right. She collected her thoughts, sucked her inner cheeks and finally blurted out the answer, "Something like that."

"Okay." He answered, and crossed the room to the dresser with a casual ease, "Did you enjoy the party?"

"I-uh," Elsa ran her fingers through the top of her head unsurely, only then realising her hair was in a complete mess. Of course it was a mess. She hadn't had the time to properly tied it all up in a bun when she was so busy convincing herself that she wasn't making a big mistake coming here. She must look like a complete idiot. Elsa swallowed thickly. "I didn't come here for the party."

"You didn't?" The man passed a look over his shoulder, a flick of surprise lighting up in his face. "Wait, let me guess― you're here because of someone."

_Is that a statement or a question?_

"You find him cheating on you, didn't you?"

_Wait, what?_

"It's― it's not like that." Elsa found herself spluttering out. "I didn't come here for... for a _guy_."

Well, technically she did. But not like that. Not like how he implied anyway.

"Oh, so it's a girl? _She_ cheated on you? I'm sorry, I thought― I just― _assumed_― I realise now I shouldn't have probably done that, I mean, people have always said I'm, like, the worst judge of―"

"No!" Elsa interrupted, screwing her eyes shut when the sound of her heartbeat rung louder than the man's voice. She gathered her breathing ― _slowly, slowly_ ― and finally breathed. "No. I― I was here because of, because of... a _business_ arrangement."

"Business?" Now he looked absolutely _confused_. "Are you handling the music? The food?"

"No." Elsa answered meekly, "It's― It's complicated."

"Right." The man replied, nodding once. For a few moments which followed, there was silence, as he seemed to be shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes trained on the dresser, his back to her. Elsa staggered, not really sure what to do in the circumstances, until she couldn't quiet shake the feeling of _wrongness_ of just being there and began to head to the door. That was, of course, before he cut-short her first step and began again, "You know, you don't really come across as someone who's _working_. Or doing a business." She frowned even more so, while he continued, completely facing her now. "So, who are you really?"

The question hung in the air.

And suddenly, she can't speak.

_Who was she? What was she supposed to say? Was it okay to give your name out to strangers? What would her father done given if he was alive and was in this situation? What about her mother? Why can't she― just― why can't she say anything._

She didn't realise she was shaking so bad until the man looked worried, coming towards her. "Hey, hey. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine." She responded, rushed.

The man touched her shoulders, but it was not rough and it was not in a rude gesture. He was worried. She could tell. Everyone usually was. He searched her eyes, so she made a point to avoid it. She can't stand when people looked her straight in the eye. Especially strangers. "You should sit." He told, guiding her to the edge of the bed, where he made sure she sat down.

Elsa's eyes remained on her laps, on the skin around her nails. She didn't like how the man stood right in front of her, _just standing there_.

She should be home.

There's lots more reports she should read, she could do. She shouldn't be here. She could be home right now if she wanted to, passing Anna's room just to hear a _Sara Bareilles_' song booming through, or saw Rapunzel's art studio lighting up next to the garage, or heard Aunt Primrose's concern dripping in her question as she asked, "How are you feeling today, honey?" because that's what she did whenever Elsa refused dinner. That's what she always did. And Kai would have been quiet, giving her a warning, raised eyebrows to which she would reply with a smile of reassurances, and the next day he would ask her if she was okay, and she'd say she was fine, and "I have omelettes for breakfast today," and Kai would have been happy.

But she's not home _now_, and she had to deal with it. She took the opportunity to glance around, and weakly pointed out. "You read _The Old Man and The Sea?_"

Gladly, the man didn't think her question was strange. In fact, he looked surprised― then delighted. "It's mine, yes. My favourite book, actually," he walked away from her and stood by his bedside table, settling the old book within his hand, his smile growing larger, chuckling. "I've read it so many times, I lost count." He looked at her then, thoughtfully, with a small touch of consideration, before he turned away, and his thumb traveled through the pages. "It's... the first ever book I actually finished reading. My grandmother gave it to me on my twelfth birthday, after I was kicked out of this _stupid_ boarding school that everyone seemed to worship."

"It had sentimental value."

He looked up to her, blue eyes taking her statement in and then: "Something like that, yeah. It wasn't the best moments of my time with everyone had my failure as the topic of the conversation, but... this book helped." He chuckled again, a little emptily, a little longing treaded along in his lines, but Elsa didn't comment. He scoffed a second later, scrunching his face funnily, "Is that weird? It sounds weird."

"No, it's not weird at all." She tried to smile, for the first time attempting herself to find his eyes. "Books... do help."

"So you read?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "It occupied most of my times, yes."

"Yeah. Reading's... good, right?" He flopped on the bed at the other side, staring at the curled, almost-torn cover. The blue cover art was faded and faint, but it must looked good earlier in the days. He kept it since he was twelve. He must have been, what ― twenty-two? _Twenty-three_ now? Ten years. That's how long he kept that book with him. "I don't read much― I think this is the only book I've dedicate myself to read more than on one occasion. My grandmother... she's... she's strange, you know. She had this habit of being, I don't know, _mean_ but she's just... trying to help, I guess. I miss her sometimes. Sometimes... that's all the reason why I'm re-reading it."

"Your grandmother..."

"She died." He shook his head, his lips in a smile, but it was forced. "Last year. She... she was sick, though she won't admit it. Like, ever. So, we never really know, you know? She didn't say... I mean, we're not in a _movie_ or anything, but..."

"I'm sorry," Elsa murmured, looking down.

It felt weird discussing about deaths that wasn't revolved around _her_ parents. Elsa honestly didn't know whether she should be relieved, or as devastated by this change. So, she settled on complete neutral and chewed on her lips.

Gerda wouldn't have liked it.

"It's fine." He replied a little tensely, looking back at her. "She _was_ pretty old, if one to think of it."

Elsa hummed, before she shifted her eyes to the rest of the books on his bedside table. She recalled the titles momentarily and glanced up at him, "And the rest? Are they yours too?"

The man looked at it. "Yeah..." He answered unsurely, but his dimple wasn't disappearing from her view, so Elsa guessed he's still putting up a smile (it was shielded when he looked the other way). "But they were originally my Dad's though. I'm supposed to shadow him when the summer ends, so... He'd like me to read them, but you know ― they're not, I mean, they're not _The Old Man and The Sea_ so..."

"You don't like them?"

"These books? I'll pass." He scoffed, threw his hands back behind him and leaned into it. His back was to her, so all she could see was his long black hair, brushing his neck. "I know I'm supposed to read this books, 'cause eventually they'll help or something but... I mean, look at this. What is this? Numbers and alphabets tied up together... Sentences... I don't read this." He chanced a look at her, standing up on his two feet. "I'd like to go out, you know. _Travel_ the world. Travel the sea. Man, that's the dream."

"Travel?"

"Yeah. I mean― It's not like I don't _want_ to be apart of my father's company, because I do. Just not in _his_ way. It's... it's complicated."

"Complicated?"

"Complicated." He echoed, rubbing the back of his neck, his smile dimmed. And then, his eyes traveled to her form, but not in a way that should threatened someone. He looked sincere when he did so. Still, Elsa couldn't help but to feel guarded and flexed her fingers by her laps nervously. He continued again, murmuring something which went: "You know, I must be more drunk than I think..."

_What do you mean?_ Elsa frowned slightly.

The man shook his head quickly, like he's rejecting his last sentence, and beamed up at her, cheerful and lively, but it didn't completely ease the twisted grip her nerves had on her in her stomach, still pulling, still tugging. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, but you're very beautiful..."

The door swung open. Again.

Though this was with more force than when the man in front of her did it. They both looked at the figure, and Elsa felt as though oxygen escaped her lungs all at once. There he was ― his name suddenly became more than just four piece of alphabets sewn together and Elsa struggled to collect her breath — _Hans_. Panting. His emerald eyes wild and angry, similar to a predator's, and it tweaked the fear within her. His face paled, but his cheeks was painted with an ugly shade of pink — the pink a man like Hans wouldn't disapprove to exist on him. His furious stare landed onto her, and his tongue curled. "There you are."

"You were searching for me?" Elsa stood up quickly, everything suddenly becoming clearer and hazier all at the same time.

"Hans." The other man greeted, confusion washed over his expression.

"Eric." Hans acknowledged.

"You look terrible."

"Thank you." Hans replied dryly, stepping inside the room. "I see you've been keeping my guest company."

Eric looked thoroughly happy, shifting his weight on his toes. "I didn't realise she was your company." Hans gave him a look as he strode to Elsa's side, one hand hovered behind her right arm, almost protectively, and Eric put his hands up. "I'm _serious_. If I had..."

"Enough." Hans cut him short, and Eric only grinned wider. The red-headed man turned to Elsa, finally. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah―"

"Where the _hell_ have you been?"

"_Excuse_ me?" Elsa blinked and scoffed emptily because— _what_. Suddenly, all of her fear and nerves washed away, leaving her body, and all that was left was his rough tone, cutting on her like razors, trying to put the whole world's fault on her, his accusation burned on every collection of oxygen her lungs held, and she was determined to spit the fire back, right at his face.

"I've been _searching_ for you."

"After you abandoned me?"

"I didn't _abandoned_ you―"

"Yeah, you must have decided to take a walk around your house while you were fetching us a drink."

"I got caught up." His eyes darkened.

"I could see that." She spat, ignoring the slow growl coming from the back of his throat, though she kept her volume down. This man was unbelievable. "After _fifteen_ minutes."

"I was in a middle of something." He snapped. "But when I came back, you were _gone_."

"You know I can't _stand_ being here― we talked about it." _Just a day ago!_ Which was why she was here. Standing right in front of him, giving him a little of her time, and he knew. He _knew_. He said he wanted to help. But he wasn't there. Elsa felt her anger shook her body, her stare sharp into his emerald ones, and then she was spewing out her words in a hush, angry tone, just for him to hear "Where the hell have _you_ been?"

"I—" Hans paused, uncertainty suddenly crossed his feature. But it went away too soon when Eric spoke up.

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend." Quipped Eric, noting them of his presence, and yanking Elsa back to reality, to what _was really happening_ — they weren't alone. Hans held his glare, dark and unforgiving, but didn't bark. In fact, a second later, after she managed to hold his stare with just as much energy he had put into his, he straightened his pose, smoothened down his jacket and took a step back.

His expression didn't soften. "She's not my girlfriend."

"I wouldn't know," Eric teasingly remarked, his icy blue eyes caught with hers. "She wouldn't even provide me a name."

Hans glanced at her side-ways, while she warily returned his look. Somehow, though still angry with him, a small part of her wanted him to know that _Eric_ was telling the truth. And he was only telling the truth because when he asked for her name, she chocked up. Hans didn't answer immediately; he locked his jaw and exhaled through his nostrils, and Elsa thought, for a moment, how he looked so reluctant. "This is Elsa. Elsa, this is my cousin, Eric."

_Cousin_. That word rung in her head longer than it should.

Elsa gave Eric a tight smile, while Eric nodded, his smile still on his lips. "It's a pleasure to have finally learn your name, Elsa."

"We need to go." Hans declared, heading to the door.

"What's the rush?" Eric called.

"I need to send her home."

"But you're drunk!" Eric noted, and Elsa wanted to point out that he was right.

"I'll figure something out." Hans told, ending the conversation and turned to Elsa as he was reaching the door, his tone defiant. "You comin'?"

She almost snorted ― _as if he'd give her a chance to say otherwise_.

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...

He didn't speak to her for the next five minutes.

But he lead her through the house with easy steps, and she made pretence she didn't notice the looks he threw in along the way, as if, through his hazy stare, he's making sure she's still following him. That _she was there_.

And because, she reasoned, he's the only one she really knew in the whole house ―  
>she didn't call him out on it.<p>

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"Where's your car?"

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...

That was the first thing he said to break the silence.

She didn't quite register that when it happened, so she took her time, and then: "Oh." She shook her head. "Sorry." Elsa looked around, her neck suddenly sticky with the thin amount of sweats which welled up under her jaw and behind her neck, the humid air making it much worse. She pointed at a direction. "There."

He strode quicker than he ever had, and Elsa forced herself to keep up. Within minutes, he was standing by the passenger door, his face pinched in odd concentration, and he said to her, "You drive."

"You―" She blinked. "Are you following?"

He darted his eyes away. "I need to get away from here."

"But it's―" Elsa felt her mouth went dry, her hands gestured towards the lights coming from his backyard. "Isn't this _your_ party?"

"I― It's―" He bit his tongue, sighing heavily; his hands on the top of her car, his face now ducked from her view. "They won't― they won't notice, okay." He finally looked up, his response was sharp. "If I was gone, they won't notice. Most of them won't probably remember tonight. It won't matter."

She stared at the car keys in her hands, and gradually nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

She pressed on a button, unlocking the doors. "Okay."

* * *

><p>"So, where are we going?"<p>

She passed a look to him, from the corner of her eyes, as he had himself low in her passenger's seat, his temple resting against the cool window. He looked pale, she noticed. But he also looked a little green too, which was weird. Elsa turned to her wheels just when he shrugged his shoulders, murmuring, "I don't care. Just drive."

"Just drive?"

"Yeah. Wherever." He shifted his body so he could stare outside, and Elsa's stomach twisted ― _was she being annoying?_ But she had the right to ask the question. This _was_ her car last time she checked ― and she _should_ know where she's taking her car to. Plus, they've been driving with no direction for the past ten minutes that the mere idea of it seemed a little too ridiculous for her. So. Really. She had the _right_ to ask. Right?

God, it's been a weird night.

"Are you..." She started again, a few minutes later, when she took notice of how restless he was. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He bit out. "Just drive."

She tried resisting it, but, honestly. She can't. "Where?"

"Anywhere."

"Anywhere _where?_ Unless it hasn't come to your acknowledgement, 'wherever' or 'anywhere' isn't a name for a place." Panic rose in her voice.

"I don't fucking know. _Anywhere_." He ground out. "Hell, you can take me to fucking _China_, and I probably won't peep a complain."

"I'm not _taking_ you to China―"

"I'm not _asking_ you to―"

"I don't understand what you're _trying_ to make me do―"

"I'm not _trying_ to make you do _anything_―"

"All I'm asking is a simple question―"

"Jesus fucking Christ. What part of 'just fucking drive' do you not understand―"

"I do―but _where?_"

"I DON'T FUCKING _KNOW_." He bellowed, his voice filling the void in the car, shrinking her in her position. "I don't _fucking know_, alright? I don't know. Just drive. That's all I'm asking you to. Anywhere. Take me to your dead grandparent's grave, do whatever. I don't― _care_."

She inhaled shaky breaths, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the steering wheel harder, his words played and thudded in her skull, again and again and again, like the phrases she heard when she was small, when they were at the hospital and Anna's head was bandaged up, and the doctor was looking at her warily from the corner of his eyes as he explained that young Anna would be okay, that she may suffer some memory loss. Elsa gulped. The force of his yell still rung in the atmosphere, and finally, after long last, she managed a quiet, "But _why?_"

He didn't answer.

She sniffled, wiping the invisible tears away. She wasn't going to cry in front of him. She almost did. But she won't. "I don't want to do this anymore."

"What?" He snapped.

"The deal. I'm not going through with it." She shook her head, confirming her decision. "I know I said I accepted it, but I can't."

"Wha― _why?_" She didn't look at him when he said that, but his voice was deep as he responded, confused, hurt— like he was betrayed in a way. He wasn't, was he? He couldn't be. If he was, in what way did she betrayed him? She swallowed.

"Because―" _I'm going to kill myself if not you_. "I don't think I can do this. _This_. With _you_."

"Well, _why the hell not?_" He bellowed again, angry and dissatisfied.

"Look at us. Look at us!" She yelled, braved herself to meet his eyes. "We'll _murder_ each other. I can't― _stand_ these. It's not― it's _not_ healthy. Not for me, Hans." She shook her head, her lips trembling. "Not for me."

"Pull over."

_What._

He stared at her, eyes wide and fuming. "I said, _pull over_."

He didn't wait for her to pull over completely ― _maniac_ ― when his hand grabbed the handle and opened the door. Elsa yelped in panic as he stumbled out of the car, clumsily, messily and stepped onto the grass and― _puked_. Right there and then. Just when Elsa completely stopped the car. She cringed when spotted the thick coloured liquid pouring out from his mouth. He continued his steps, until he was a considerable distance away, hunched forward, hands on knees, and vomited some more. She opened her door and flung herself out in the open.

"Why―" he breathed when he was finished, talking in between gasps of breaths, taking a napkin from his jacket and wiped the dribble of vomit staining his chin. "Why not, Elsa?"

"What?" She whispered, intended on coming closer. "Are you o-okay?"

"Why _can't_ we work together? Didn't you fucking hear me?"

"What are you―"

"I said when I commit to something, I'll do it. To the fucking end." He jabbed, coming to her. "Didn't you fucking hear me? Or are you deaf as well?"

"I can't― I don't―" She glanced around confusingly, because ― _where did this man took his logics from?_

"You said _yes_. You allow me to commit myself ― my time, my energy, my _fucking existence_ ― to you. And now you're saying you _can't go through with it?_ Are you shitting me? Because you can't be. I won't allow it. Do you hear me this time, Elsa? I won't _fucking_ allow it―"

"Well, you disappeared on me―"

"But I _CAME BACK!_" He yelled, the veins on his neck stood out ― blue and clear. "I _never_ came back."

"So what?" She yelled back, her chest closing in, her lungs forcing a sob out of her mouth.

"So― I want to fucking do this!" He threw his hands up in the air. "Can't you _see_ that?"

"No, Hans. I'm sorry. But I can't."

"Then, you _should_." He racked his fingers to his face, his nails scrapping against his skin, leaving faint red marks on his already-red face. "Fuck, Elsa. You're a hot mess."

"No. No. _No_, I'm not." She shut her eyes and stepped backwards, feeling her whole body shrunk to compare to the rest of the world. "Stop it. _Stop_."

And then he was _there, _his hands gripping her side, and he's shaking her, his voice boomed but blurred in translation until ― "ELSA!"

"I'm _not_― a_ mess_." She fiercely told him, jabbing her fingers up his collarbones; her throat felt like it was on fire. And then, because she realised again of their proximity, she couldn't help to think — _why were they always, somehow, ended up like this?_

He hushed her, one hand came to cup her cheek, and his thumb wiped away the tears dribbling down her cheek. Wait, she cried? _Seriously?_ So much for 'won't cry in front of him'. Elsa cursed herself mentally, and levelled down her chocking sobs. His brows furrowed harshly, but there wasn't the same anger in his eyes anymore, just clustered mind trying to survive. She hiccuped. "I won't give up on you, Elsa," he whispered, still wiping her tears. "If you want me still, I won't."

She tried to search for his eyes, for _him_, but he kept his gaze on her cheeks, and only that. And because his actions weren't acceptable, not even when he's cooing her up right now, cleaning up her mess with his bare fingers, she blurted out:

"Fuck you, Hans."

He finally met her eyes― and _smirked_.

Bastard.

Despite that, she huffed out a breath and smiled. He grinned too, his thumb brushing her cheek for the final time and he withdrew his hands, keeping it by her arms, still keeping her close. He pressed his lips together, and exhaled heavily. "Is that a no?"

She touched her lips ― and steadied her state of crying.

_After tonight?_

Elsa observed the way his eyes dilated slowly, counted the small speckles of brown splattered in his emerald orbs before she trailed her attention away, at the back of his head, to her car. She pressed her lips, dropped her chin and took a deep breath, "I don't know, Hans..."

"Change your mind," he breathed in return, his tone suddenly changed ― like he's just figured something out, and that was the answer all along. She pulled her brows together and watched the confidence smearing and shaping what once was a pale face, now colouring the shades under his bones, and deepening the lines to his expression. "I need to change your mind."

She was about to protest, or just _say something_, when he already spun, tugging on his shirt and walked to the car. "You need a direction on where to go, right?"

"What?" She voiced out, though it came out more like a whisper than anything.

"I'll give you directions." He skipped himself to the passenger's seat. "You drive."

"I don't unders―" Elsa caught herself and thought about this again, _carefully, _observing this man who's standing a space away from her; Hans angled his head just one degree up to the side, his eyes beckoning, his expression promising the indescribable and Elsa scrunched her nose, torn. Until she let out an audible sigh, "Is there a choice?"

Hans snorted with humour, shaking his head defiantly. "What? Of course not."

She wiped her face for the last time, shrugging away the tears, and Elsa didn't comment about the lingered heat his thumb left across her cheeks ― her lips quirked into a tiny, little smile. Somehow, she expected that.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Parker. I trust the night shift is treating you well."<p>

The grumpy man looked up from a worn sports magazine, staring dully at the both of them. From the corner of Elsa's eyes, she watched how Hans never dropped his grin, a type of mischief roared in his every move. The grumpy man grunted, and then, "Hans. I was wondering when you're going to show up again."

"I brought a friend."

"She's pretty." Parker commented dryly, his tired eyes shifted momentarily to Elsa, and she tried to smile. Because that's what people do right? Smiling surely can't be wrong. Even if he was a complete stranger ― well not _completely_, because Hans seemed very well-acquainted with the older man. "Blonde. That's new."

"She's different," Hans responded smoothly, shifting his weights on his feet. "I need a pass."

"Hah! As if." Parker snorted, flipping back through the sports magazine, his face souring. "I ain't doin' this job for you no more, kid. You better find another night guard that you can easily make a fool of, because I ain't gonna be that person anymore. I'm done. Ain't gon' risk it."

"Oh, come on, old man..."

"Your brother almost had my head the last time he found out you went into the building. I'm not getting my ass fired, no matter how special you claim your girl to be." Parker grunted again, clearly dissatisfied.

"You know he won't actually do that. Fabian loves you!"

"Yeah, he sure loves me when he threatened to have my job ripped away from me if I ever slipped up and let you in again."

"Oh, he's just joking around."

"Well, unfortunately I don't find it funny." Parker insisted, "Sorry, kid. Not this time."

"I suppose I understand. You _are_ a good night guard, Parker. I'll make sure to inform that to my brother."

"You do that..." Parker dryly responded, flipping through the pages of the sports magazine again, dismissing them entirely. Elsa watched Hans again, and quirked her eyebrows together when she found there's no trace of disappointment lacing his face. He walked away, and Elsa followed suit, quietly. Until they turned to one lane, where Parker would not have seen them, and Hans grabbed her wrist, his eyes glinting with something Elsa wasn't accustom with ― complete mischief. "Come on."

"Where are we―"

"We're going to break in." Hans responded with a clip, "I know a door."

"_What?_"

"Shh!" He hushed her, throwing a look over his shoulder, his grin grew larger. Elsa could only stared at him in disbelief. _This man_. "There's more night guards than just Parker, you know. So we need to be quiet."

"What― I'm not going to break in into the museum with you!" She whispered harshly; trying to tug her wrist from his grip.

"Why not? We're not _trying_ to steal anything, Elsa, so you have nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to― worry― it's _illegal!_"

"It's _fun_."

"Let― go― of― me!"

"_Jesus_, Elsa." He pulled her along, hissing. "Don't make me kiss you again."

She gasped, frowning. "You wouldn't do that."

"Oh, after I've just vomited not more than fifteen minutes ago?" His deep tone bounced in her head, and he turned his head just slightly to the side that she caught his growing smirk, and the mocking glint in his emerald eyes ― "I'm highly tempted not to swoop in and just capture your lips right now."

Elsa told herself that she wasn't blushing. "You― are― _insane!_"

"Stop it― seriously― shh!" He flushed their bodies together as a light traveled and illuminated to somewhere near to them, and Elsa held a gasp when Hans planted his left hand over her mouth. They stayed like that for a while ― his posture alerted, his shoulders squared, and he wore a face which pulled on every seriousness he mustered, the act of foolishness disappeared under the dim surroundings, while she bit down any sound from escaping her throat ― such as _help_ ― because for whatever stupid reason, she trusted him, at least, during this moment, on this hour.

When the guard walked pass, with his walkie-talkie buzzing in with curt reports from the night guards inside of the museum, Hans dropped his hand from her mouth, turning to him with raised brows. "You okay?" He said under his breath, and Elsa nodded mutely. "Good," he told, and latched his fingers around her wrist again. "We should get going."

She followed him for the next few seconds, until she was led to the door he must have been talking about, while he pulled out a white card, and swiped it for recognition. "It's my brother's," he flashed her the white card once the door was unlocked, mirth swimming in his expression, and Elsa scrunched up her nose guiltily.

She's been here before, she thought. The Museum of All Arts and Beauty, featuring the best art and sculptures around the globe, all collections priceless and completely, absolutely, was lost in time. Twice, in her knowledge. She'd been here twice. Once a few months after her parents' accident, on a school field-trip that she let Rapunzel talked her into, and the other when she had just entered college, although there were no any particular reason for the second visit. She just simply wanted to take a second tour ― the place was rather calming, in a way.

But, of course the place wasn't brimming with the same comforting effect it had, not _when they're breaking the law_.

What were they even _doing?_

"Hans. I don't think we should―" She licked her lips, her mind's reeling back. "We should really just _go_―"

"_Elsa_." He pressed on, a low chuckle escaping from his lips. "Calm down."

Calm down. Calm down. Dear lord, he's asking her to _calm down_. How was she supposed to calm down when―

"Hey."

Elsa realised that he'd stopped moving, and so was she.

He grinned, somehow his red hair illuminating and the light freckles splattered over his cheek was more clearer than usual. _Has it always been there?_ Something in her mind whispered, before she took note of his index finger, pointing _up_. With an easy sway, he mouthed, "Look."

And then she did.

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The silver twinkling of the stars shone and glimmered on top of them as if somebody had poured glitter across a black-painted canvas, and she was in awe. She had never seen the night sky so clear, not like this, not when she felt like she was the only human on earth tilting her head up and staring _at it_. And on that moment, only one string of words crossed her mind ―

The sky was awake.

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She was brought back to reality when she realised there's something poking on her palm.

She immediately looked down, broken out of her trance ― to realise Hans was wiping her hand, with what seemed to be, a white glove. Elsa frowned, and glanced up at him, "What are you―"

"You were sweating excessively." Hans calmly responded, without looking up. "Through your hand. Now that you're more calm..."

She frowned with a greater force. "You've decided that it was just _alright_ to do this?" She took her hand back, flexing her fingers and met his eyes.

He set his mouth in a tight line, scoffing lightly. "I was just trying to help."

_Yeah, well_. Elsa brought her attention elsewhere, and decided to concentrate on a portrait hanging in her line of view. She drew her hands back behind her, silently wishing that she had worn her own blue gloves. Not that she can, if she could. That was also another promise she made to Anna when she ended her depression 'phase'. To not conceal behind gloved-covered hands, and a closed door. Elsa sighed.

"Do you like it?" Hans' questioned suddenly, bringing him to her focus. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Does your family own this museum?"

Hans' handsome face broke into a grin, though it didn't quite looked all too genuine. "It's my brother's actually. My third brother. Fabian. He bought this from some old coop when he was just twenty years old, still finishing college. It was always his dream to own this building. And he's particularly good at getting what he wants."

"It must run in the family then, the persistency." Elsa bravely noted aloud, the corner of her lips curled into a small teasing smile.

He _smirked_. "I can't say it doesn't." He licked his lips, trailed his eyes at the side of the floor and gestured towards the sky, changing the subject, "There should be a ceiling over it ― _concrete_ ceiling ― but Fabian renovated it so now during the nights, the now automatic ceiling will open up and the arts will be dancing under the stars. He did it to celebrate his firstborn. Symbolises something like a gift from heaven, he claimed."

"It's really beautiful." Elsa nodded, looking around, a sincere smile rested on her lips. "I'm impressed."

"You're not the first one."

"I doubt I was." She dared herself to face him, "Just... how many girls did you bring up here?"

"Countless," he responded smoothly ― and Elsa turned her head quick enough to roll her eyes at him. _Figured_.

"You're not jealous, are you?" She could sense the tease in his voice.

"No," she cringed and looked at him funny. "Were they... were they as willing when you brought them here?"

"Oh, they were _very_ willing." Hans held a smirk, stepping backwards and gestured towards the large hall. "Some of them even caused me a fortune." He looked around, and through the dim lighting, Elsa thought she saw more to him than just what he wanted to present, something more _genuine _but that thought evaporated as quickly as the smirk which carved itself on his handsome face again. "You'd be surprise to hear some of the stories―"

"I'd rather not."

"―although there's one thing I've never done with other girls..."

Elsa raised a brow, "What?"

He grinned, "Dance."

"What― _honestly?_"

"Shh. Listen."

"_When there's no-one else in sight in the crowded lonely night ― well I wait so long for my love vibration_..."

Elsa almost chocked out her laughter, before he came forward, hushing her. "What_ is _that?" She whispered, grinning widely up at him. It's almost silly, the idea to her, when you're alone with the most arrogant guy in the whole wide world in a museum you two just broke into, and there's a _Billy Idol's_ song in the background. The whole event of it was ultimately laughable.

"One of the guards must have his iPod on too loud, or something." Hans reasoned, his grin imitated hers.

"Oh my god," Elsa laughed out, ducking her head lower.

"_Oh dancing with myself, well there's nothing to lose and there's nothing to prove ― I'll be dancing with myself_..."

"Come on," Hans suddenly nudged her, extending one arm towards her.

"What?" She stared at it, wide-eyed, before she shook her head, still grinning. "No."

"Oh, come one. It's good music." Hans wiggled his brows up at her, "And I've been told I'm an excellent dancer."

"No. I'm not _dancing_ with you. Not right here."

"Oh, Elsa, didn't you hear the lyrics? There's nothing to lose and there's nothing to prove. So would you do me the honour of dancing with an old poor guy who's got nothing more but his aching soul and his charming good looks?"

Elsa actually laughed ― a breath of empty air escaping her lips along with an almost inaudible-sound; the late hour must have had its effect on her ― as she rolled her eyes, then bit her lips. "I'm _not_ like your other girls, Hans." _I'm not falling for this_.

His fingers were grasping the base of her palm when his eyes fluttered up to her, and Elsa caught her breath, her smile faltered under his serious gaze ― _like he's seeing right through her very soul_ ― and then he dropped it, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles while he murmured, "No, you're not."

"H-Hans― what are you―"

He's changed his expression by then, and Elsa could almost feel the way the oxygen breathed back into her lungs when she saw the same leering mask he's been keen on putting on, "Dance with me, Elsa."

She allowed herself to roll her eyes, although there wasn't the same disgust behind this act when she did it ― it was as if she was... being _playful_. Could she? Bravely, with a hint of a smile, she said, "You're an idiot."

And expectedly, he didn't look offended ― "Well, I'm not going to be an idiot all on my own."

"_No_."

* * *

><p>With her chocked, quiet laughter ringing in his ears, and his body heat supplying extra warm to the humid, summer night; Elsa danced.<p>

* * *

><p>"So, what?" He asked, almost breathless, and when she looked over, his cheeks were flushed with the same shade of pink he wore a few hours earlier, but <em>this<em> expression he had _right now_ was different somehow. Like there's genuine happiness lingering about, like the rush of his blood was real and his body was emitting heat for all the right reason. She realised he was panting.

Of course he was ― it was almost two in the morning, and they were just chased by a night guard after they heard her laughing a little too loud, and him snorting out his own laughter in the background.

She still couldn't get rid of her grin. "What?" She breathed out, struggling to swallow some lump of air just to fuel up her burning lungs. She shoved the car key in, igniting her car to life.

"Did I change your mind?"

"Change my..." She murmured, until ― _oh_. She gradually turned the engine, and heard him regained his breathing.

He waited.

"Do you have anywhere else you wish to go?" She asked, when she drove them down with the other cars, into the familiar road.

"Elsa."

"Please." She told him, suddenly all of the _adrenaline_ she experienced seemed like a bad report on a Monday morning. She swallowed.

"You can just drop me off a few blocks from here." He told, after a few beating seconds, his face soured and he lowered himself in the passenger's seat. Elsa thought she heard a droop of disappointment lingering in his sentence, but it must have been this whole night and the few laws she's just broken that's taking over her head, because Hans wasn't someone who's disappointed ― not because of _her_, at least. She dismissed the simple idea. "There's, uh, bar there. My driver'll know where to pick me up."

"A bar?"

He hummed as a response, angling his head so he was staring out of the window.

She hummed back, more quietly, and drove on.

"Hans." She began, "Tonight―"

"Will pass. I know the routine. I've used it so many times on people, I've..." He sighed, sounding aggrieve. "I understand. Don't worry, I'll forget it."

"But, Hans―"

"Look, Elsa, I get it okay ― you don't need to shove my wasted effort up my face."

"Wasted?"

"Yeah, _wasted_." Hans ground, drew out harsh breath between his teeth, and ran his hand through his hair. "I don't― I was serious, you know. I was really going to commit to you, to this matter. And I was going to _try_. But I guess―" He shook his head, his brows drawing together. "Whatever. Just forget it."

She pursed her lips, and watched him from the corner of her eyes. "Hans―"

"Just, _don't_, alright?"

"Hans, I don't think you understand―"

"Understand _what_, Elsa? _Jesus_."

"That my answer is _yes_."

"What?"

"I'm saying _yes_, Hans. I'm changing my mind." She inhaled shakily, her thumbs caressing the steering wheel in repeat circles. "I... It won't be easy, but I'm willing to... to do this, with you."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I am."

"Well," he blinked, surprised. "Okay."

"Okay?"

He nodded numbly, and then ― "Okay."

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"So... do you still wish for me to drop you off at that bar?"

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He grinned.  
>And she thought, <em>maybe I can get used to this<em>.

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* * *

><p><strong>End Note<strong>: 8,818 word count. WHAT HAVE I DONE. I promise myself I won't write more than 4,000 words, the _most_, and ― _voila!_ Man, I fucked up. If anything, I swear this leads to something. _Really_. And if you haven't figured it out, Eric is totally from "The Little Mermaid", and I made him Hans' cousin! There was supposed to be a line where Hans would gruff out, "It's because I trust him, that I don't trust him with _you_." when he was speaking with Elsa, which kind of summarise [Hans and Eric's] entire relationship together (in my head, that is), but as I wrote along, I've seemed to run out of place to insert the line.

In any case, it has been an absolute joy to write. I hope you're having one heck of a time reading it too and if it doesn't trouble you, it would mean a lot to me if you'd drop in a review. Thank you.


	3. III

_**"'W**_hat if I fall?' Tim cried.

Maerlyn laughed. 'Sooner or later, we all do.'"  
>― Stephen King, <em>The Wind Through the Keyhole<em>.

* * *

><p><strong>III<strong>

* * *

><p>She dropped him off at the big entrance leading up to the Southern Isles, which were still a few good 500 metres away from the Main House — and she <em>did<em> insisted that it was perfectly alright with her to just drive in, though his house were still flooded with various of cars even though it should be past the appropriate hour for any young adults to stay awake, and drop him off; he insisted otherwise — and watched his figure merged with the darkness and the trees that fell towards them, as though inviting their young master back into their humble pathway.

Elsa didn't know what to do.

So, she stared at him.

He stood outside, his hand trailed over her door before he swung around, bent down so that his face was clear for her to observe, even under the darkness of night blanketing around them, and then he licked his lips, his emerald eyes shone with a small touch of consideration, and his voice dropped low, but his tone oozed confidence. "I'll call you." He said with a sharp gentleness that only he could master, and she didn't comment.

He shut the door.

It took her five minutes down the road later to realise he didn't even have her phone number.

* * *

><p>So, he didn't call — and she expected that of him — for the next three days.<p>

* * *

><p>Then, the phone rang.<p>

* * *

><p>It was weird hearing his gruff voice on the other side of the line.<p>

"—_how_ did you get my phone number?"

"I've got my sources," He answered with a clip, and continued on before she could cut him off. Her hand shook with a light tremble, only because _this_ never happened — never just a guy _rang_ her up and wanted to have an easy conversation — and she swallowed down, the deep tone of his voice floated over, filling her mind. "Though I have to admit, you're a tough one to find. I trust it's only appropriate considering how you are and _who_ you are."

"H-how? _Who?_"

"_How_, as in your problematic ways of handling human interactions and _who_, as in you're an Arendelle. I do believe such a name won't be going around with their numbers out to public, unless of course, you'd actually like for someone to breach your personal and account security, then I must _assume_ you have absolutely no idea how rich you are."

"I—I—" She felt her throat tightened up, her brows furrowing together, her heart beat's speeding up because her mind couldn't decide on how to _react_ to this. Why did he always do this? Sauntering up into her life and saying stuff like he's known the facts his whole life, and even had the right to say it _like that_, like it's the most insignificant matter in the whole wide world. And it probably was — to him. She frowned, and settled with, "I'm not rich."

"You're certainly going to be." He answered with an ease that Elsa, privately, secretly, was jealous of, and continued on. She didn't know where he was, but from the way he sounded, Elsa could imagine him at the balcony overlooking the Southern Isles' large garden at the backyard, and there's a maid waiting in the corner, in case he snapped his finger and ordered a different tea flavour, and he's wearing a smirk, right now, when he's calling her, because though they have only met twice, she knew he had gotten most of her personality down to know how she'd _react when it's him_. Jerk. "Where are you?" He asked, grabbing her attention.

"At—" She glanced around, her fingers grabbed onto the railing earnestly and she chewed on her lips. There's a doubt in her chest when she looked around, wondering if it's the right decision to tell him where she was. Then, because a lie won't be as easy to slip from her lips as it would on his, she sighed, and decided on telling him the truth. "I'm at my college. Walt Elias' University?"

"Why?"

"I— I'm taking summer classes."

"Bullshit."

Elsa frowned. "What?"

"You're lying, princess — I can _taste_ it from here." He mocked and she could very well imagined him rolling his eyes, "I can say I'm not impressed. You could have done _so_ much better than that."

"Are you—" She caught her words, cringed, and started again. "Are you encouraging me to lie?"

"Oh, no. You've got it all wrong. I'm encouraging you to lie _better_."

"How is that a necessity?" Lying isn't good for anyone. "Lying is... _bad_."

"Not when you're going to start attending formal events. _Some_ things are better kept as secrets. And you honestly wouldn't want any stories to start flying around when they began to suspect something of you just because you couldn't keep a straight face. So, lie better. After all, how did that saying go — what wouldn't hurt, they wouldn't know?"

"It's _what they don't know won't hurt them_ and— and— how would you know I'm lying? You can't be sure."

"Oh honey, your Aunt is a very generous story-teller."

Elsa closed her eyes and bit her lips — _of course_. She opened them again when his voice jabbed into her eardrums, shaking the nerves and sending the message that she was indeed _having a conversation with someone over the phone_. "I met her when I arrived at the Corona Manor. I meant to pick you up, and she informed me of your whereabouts. I'm just calling to confirm."

"You— you want to pick me up? _Why?_"

"I've got some exciting news for you." She could practically felt the smile over his lips, excited and giddy. "I'm on my way to you. Do _not_ move. Could you meet me at the lobby?"

"Lobby? B-but, how are you sure I'm not _busy?_"

"Elsa, I'm not an idiot. You're not there for any summer classes. You're just there because you're bored and you don't know what to do."

"I— I wasn't _bored_." She munched her lips, agitated.

"Well, _do_ tell me of the real reason why you're there— 'helping' your professors sort out reports that I bet you've read a million times over?"

"I—" Elsa swallowed, and frowned. "I didn't know what to do." She blurted out, her cheeks heating up as the answer ran through her mind, her next reply came in a quiet, embarrassed hushed of breath. "You didn't call."

Don't you know — they never call when they say they would.

(They never stay when they say they would.)

She dragged her attention away, as though she could pull herself out of that situation when she did. "I was sparing myself from disappointment."

And then, because he's the most preposterous man alive, he said — "You're lying, Elsa."

Though she detected legitimate anger from his tone, she realised she wasn't trembling because of that. Elsa frowned forcefully, munching on her lips even more so, "I'm _not_."

He was silent for a few seconds before he whispered out a distant: "Fuck," followed by a quick intoned of, "I'm sorry, Elsa."

There's an edge to his voice when he said it that made Elsa caught her breath, because for that _one_ moment, she honestly thought there's sincerity in what he said — because this was _Hans_, and Hans wasn't the one to say that simply, not with _that tone_. At least, not how Elsa imagined him to be.

"It's—It's okay." She insisted, shaking the apology away. "You— you called. So."

He exhaled heavily through the other line, and she tried to picture his face, pinching in seriousness, brows pulled together, lips in a straight line. "I did." He didn't speak for the next few seconds, and Elsa was sure if a pin was dropped, she could hear it. She cleared her throat, and licked her drying lips.

"H-Hans?" His name still felt strange rolling off her tongue.

He hummed on the other side of the line — a strong, firm hum that shook something within her core.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm good. I'm good." He repeated, and there's an air of hesitation lingered about but she didn't question before he asked: "How are _you_ today?"

If she knew better, she would say that his question was a genuine one. She swallowed thickly and re-thought her answer, because, first, what was this man trying to do, and second, what was the most appropriate way for her to answer this, at least, to _him_? She didn't know. Oh, she wished she did. "I-I'm fine." She shook her head, and tried to focus on everything besides from the way the atmosphere of the conversation shifted. "A-are you still picking me up?"

"Yes." He told her without a beat missed. "I'll see you down at the lobby. Oh, and should I mention that Fabian definitely caught us at his museum the other day?" He chuckled then, and she could almost picture it — the way his cheekbones rose when he did so, the way the mischief in his eyes glinted even more than it should. She almost glad that he brought it up — because then the situation wasn't as tensed as it was. "Man, he was _pissed_."

"_What?_" The panic rose and forced her to hit a pitch. "What— is he— did he— _what?_"

That was it, Elsa thought. She was going to prison.

"Yup." Hans merrily continued on, and she wondered if this man even knew the meaning of remorse. "Got to admit. It sure made brunch an even more exciting event."

"Whuh— did— does he know?"

"Know what? About you?" Hans spoke aloud, "I made sure your face weren't caught in the cameras. I mean, of course he's gotten glimpse of it, but like I said, I've got my sources. So, for now, you're in the clear. He doesn't even know _who_ you are. He referred to you as 'the blonde' which personally, I think, is just a horrid nickname considering who you are — but correcting him would be a rookie mistake, and I wouldn't have taken pride for it."

"You had brunch with him?"

"Him and Benno. Fabian's wife and child came along, so it wasn't _entirely_ dreadful."

"And Benno is...?"

"The seventh brother. The still-bachelor. Mother wanted him married so she won't find him passed out on the living room's couch every Monday morning, but _some_ things are easier said than done."

"Is— um, is Parker fired from his job?"

"Parker? Who― oh, _that_ Parker ― I'm hurt to know you've underestimate― _wait_." Hans paused, and Elsa's brows hiked up. "My brother found out that we committed a criminal offence and you're worried about a lousy night guard?"

"I thought you said I was in the clear!"

"You _are_― but― Fabian might be pressing charges against _me_, and you're asking about a _night guard_."

"I wasn't―" Elsa furrowed her brows and chewed on her lips. "Did he?"

"Did who what?" He asked sharply.

"Did your brother― did Fabian―" She swallowed and continued on uncertainly, "press any charges?"

"Well, of course not. He _would_ have, mind you, but I've been told I'm very good at persuading people."

"You shouldn't have, you know." Elsa whispered out, brushing a fallen white hair behind. "You shouldn't have taken me to the museum." _Or else we wouldn't be having this conversation right now_. She sighed.

"I don't see what the problem is ― you've enjoyed your time there, didn't you?"

"I― I― it doesn't matter, Hans. It's _illegal_."

"What?" He scoffed harshly, "Of course it matters. I don't care what my brother would've done. You've enjoyed yourself and that's that. I don't regret it. Do you?"

She let his last words hung in the air, and it thudded dangerously in her skull, like a dull chant that she couldn't get rid of no matter how hard she tried to scrub it away. And it was there, and it ate on her thoughts and then all she could really see was the stars on top of them, and the dim lights reflecting on his emerald eyes, and the way he breathed against her cheeks and then ― "No. No, I don't."

"Good." He told, satisfied. "And I made sure I spared Parker from my reckless act. I owed that man many favours. It's time I did something of it."

"That's―" _That's good, Hans_. She smiled, a little. "I'm glad to hear it."

He hummed shortly in respond. "I'll see you in a minute. Be there."

"Wait―"

The line was cut off.

* * *

><p>If she wasn't too busy glaring at the unfamiliar, private number on the screen of her phone, now added in her phone log, she would have noticed the figure looming behind, a knowing grin on his handsome face.<p>

The figure approached.

* * *

><p>"So, I believe that's my favourite cousin."<p>

Elsa gasped ― and turned around, her hands clasped carefully on her phone, right to her chest, when her eyes finally registered who was standing there. She blew a short, relief breath of air before: "Eric."

The man in question nodded his head, his grin spreading wider. "Elsa. It's a pleasure to have finally meet you again."

She glanced everywhere, because ― _was this some kind of prank?_ Was she being tricked, somehow? Elsa wasn't sure, but she grabbed on her phone a little tighter, as if the cool metal could provide her some sort of comfort, although that thought seemed absurd. She finally blurted out, "W-what are you doing here?"

"Why, I'm searching for you of course." Eric came, and grinned easily. Only then did Elsa let her eyes traveled over the new face ― now completely out of the drunken state he was in the last she saw him. He looked fresh somehow, like he was clean from all the dirt the night had gotten him into, and his blue eyes shone brighter under the sun's beaming gaze ― Eric smiled wider. "You look lovely, as I thought you would."

Elsa gingerly touched her braided hair. "I― t―thank you."

"No problem," Eric nodded his head and tilted his head to one side. "So, I was right?" She looked on, confused ― until he pointed down towards the phone that was clutched in her palms. "It was Hans?"

Elsa pulled her brows together. "Does it matter?"

Surprisingly, Eric laughed. A good, from-the-core, deep-dimpled kind of laughter ― and it twisted on Elsa's nerves. She didn't know if she should be delighted, or felt as though she was being mocked. But then, Eric looked at her, sort of considerably, and he nodded his head to himself, like he's confirming something and he said, "I like you."

She stared back at him uncertainly. "How did you find me here?"

"How anyone else would," Eric replied. "I _Googled_ you. You got quite an amazing reputation at this school. I'm truly impressed."

She didn't reply to that.

"And you could probably imagine my surprise when I found out of your last name ― _Arendelle_." Eric whistled, and there's amazement painted over his expression, but there's more to it than that too, it's just, she couldn't place _what_. So, she bit her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself, mostly. "I knew you were... _something else_ when I began to suspect exactly who you were while you were in my room, alone and for once, _wasn't_ drunk― but to be an Arendelle..."

"I― I don't think I understand."

"Hans favoured you, doesn't he?"

"What?" She munched on her lips, frowning more.

"You're special. To him. Somehow." Eric appeared like he's pondering over something, his thick brows pulled together in complete concentration. "I haven't seen him looked that... _possessive_ in a long time."

She drew a shaky breath in. "I―" _I don't understand_.

"I must warn you though ― he's... he isn't always what he said he is."

Elsa frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Hans... is what you can considered as, well, as _sociopath_. Except of course, he isn't. I mean, not entirely." Eric passed a look towards the wide yard by the side of the building, his hands also caught the rails. He looked troubled, somehow, which didn't fit ― not with the easiness of just _being_ he carried along with him, as if being _comfortable always_ was apart of his true nature. And Elsa caught herself because ― _of course it was_. And, _he must see me as a freak_. She hid her squeak. "He... had things going on for him when he grew up. I guess, what I was trying to say was ― he's kind of, messed up, if you get what I mean."

"I― I don't. I'm sorry." Elsa whispered the last part out, confusion dragging on her sense.

"You're a nice young lady, Elsa, from what I could see. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I― I don't understand. _Hurt?_ How am I getting hurt?"

"Do you know who Hans is? Who he was?" _Well_, she wanted to say, he's quite a favourable handsome fellow isn't he? Being in magazines and all? Having all those girls lining up to just have him spare them a look? But Elsa didn't say any of it, didn't have the chance to when Eric continued ― "By the frown you're expressing, I'm guessing that's a no."

"Does it matter?" She hastily cut in, and the truth she said next felt more like a bitter lie, "You shouldn't judge a person by what he did yesterday." _Should you?_ And then, feeling her own fingers fell in contact with one another, she decided ― _no, you shouldn't_.

"When you're talking about Hans ― in a way, it matters, yeah." Eric nodded to himself, and there's stubbornness with the crease imprinted in between his brows when he frowned back up to her. She, daringly, returned the look. "You don't know what he's capable of."

_He kissed me after he insulted me ― I bet I could get a picture of it_.

Elsa bit her inner cheek.

"Look..." Eric sighed, after a few fleeting seconds passed with the tension still heavy in the air, turning side-ways and bringing one hand up to rub the side of his face. "I don't mean to― _attack_ you or anything. I just― after Grandmother died, he just... he _stopped_, you know. Sure, he's gotten worse with his professional reputation, but he stopped. That's the only thing that mattered and― and―" Eric swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in an obvious manner. "Suddenly you come into the picture, and it's like... he's _back_."

"_What?_" She whispered, confused. "E-Eric, I don't― I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. Of course you don't." Eric sighed again, pressing the tips of his fingers over his closed-eyelids, a frustrated grunt echoed at the back of his throat. "I just― be careful, okay."

Elsa's brows pulled together, her thoughts clustered in a fit of jumbled-up mess ― _be careful? Hans?_

The real question was: why?

"But you're different too, you know. It's like, when he _snapped_ at you the other night― it's almost like..." Then, slowly, Eric's lips curled into a smile before he tilted his head back and barked out a good-natured laughter, his dimples deepened dangerously, his blue eyes shut in complete mirth. "Can you believe it?" He said, shaking his head, his blue eyes searching for hers. "It's almost like he actually _cares_."

Care? What― about _her?_ He's got a strange way of showing it, definitely. Elsa gritted her teeth, and glanced her eyes side-ways.

"You should ask him."

Elsa spared him a look. "What?"

"Ask him why he's doing this ― why hasn't he walked away."

She pressed her lips together, and considered. _Why_. Her head began to ache, and she privately cringed.

"And when you have the time, ask him about Aurora too. You deserve at least that."

_Aurora?_

Eric straightened down his clean suit and smiled up at her, but this time, there's more than just amusement in his eyes. He nodded to her once and smiled more, "I should get going. I've exceeded my time here anyways."

"Wait― who's Aurora?"

"I'm sorry, Elsa. It's not my story to tell." He said, his thick brows pulled away in a pitiful fashion, but he caught her hand and bent his head down and kissed her knuckles. Just like that. Without any warning whatsoever. Elsa blinked at him, surprised, when he just stood straight up, and grinned. "It's always nice seeing you. I better run now."

"B-but―"

Eric skipped in his step and waved, though he did not turn back, not even once, and Elsa was left staring at his shadows, leaving her utterly confused and her knuckles tingled with where his lips brushed against it. She rubbed her hands.

* * *

><p>"Who's <em>that?<em>" Ariel's sweet voice came rolling over, and yanked Elsa back to reality. She blinked up at the red-head.

"That's, uh―" Elsa felt her mouth went dry, "That's Eric."

Ariel looked confused, but there's a friendly smile hovering over her lips. "And who's _that?_"

"Someone I know," Elsa quickly responded, and shoved her phone into her dress' pocket. "Um― have you found the data?"

"Yup. It's printing right now." Ariel nodded giddily, and Elsa was once again reminded of how efficient her lab partner could be. After all, she had only left the lab for what― _ten minutes? Fifteen minutes, the most?_ Elsa absent-mindedly pulled her phone out, pressed the side and watched while the screen lit up, presenting the time. Oh. 21 minutes. That wasn't _so_ bad. "I'm also cross-referrencing the reports right now ― do you want any copies?"

Elsa let her mind sunk down this information ― one, two, three ― "Sure. Can you, uh... give it to me by mail?"

"What― I thought you liked it better in papers."

"Well, the world _is_ burning up as we speak and if I ever plan on going to Antarctica, I can't let that happen any longer." Elsa licked her lips and tried to smile, though it felt forced. "I― I need to go. There's, um, there's someone waiting for me."

"_Humm_, what― oh, of course! Of course! Whatever. Go. Is it Anna?"

"Uh, no. It's―" _Hans_. "A friend. I'm meeting him downstairs."

"_Him?_"

Elsa flinched, "It's not like― it's not how it looks like."

Ariel smiled even more so, though this time it's more slyly than ever, and she nodded her head slowly. "Of course. Just go. Have fun."

When Elsa was grabbing her bag, she pretended she didn't hear Ariel's giggles over the sound of the machine printing ― one, two, three.

She breathed.

* * *

><p>She caught his smirk even before he pulled the convertible over ― and somehow, she skipped one step, and walked over.<p>

("Braid," he intoned ― a deep, low hummed ― and his eyes were angled just slightly, a degree up, and he's looking at her like he's considering her ― _all of her_ ― though, really, he's just talking about _the hair_ and she tried to match his stare with a fixed, determined expression, but she wavered when he smirked, even more _so_, and nodded, like he was satisfied. "I like it."

He drove. And she wondered ― what on earth was she doing here?)

* * *

><p>"Where are we going?" She asked, once he pulled down the curb and onto the main road ― she's tugging on her braid to keep it away from flying off with the wind, and she didn't comment that Hans probably looked prettier with the wind in his hair than she ever will. If Anna were here, she wouldn't hesitate to say it aloud.<p>

"Some place," Hans shrugged his shoulder, one hand extended towards the radio. "Do you have any specific stations you wanted to listen to? Or we could just continue listening to _Bruce Springsteen_."

Elsa tuned down to the radio for a moment, the volume must be at two ― _everybody's got a hungry heart, lay down your money and you play your part..._ ― as she watched Hans' fingers hovered over the various of buttons, before she shook her head and pressed her lips together. "No. This... will be fine."

Hans nodded, and clenched his fist around the steering wheel, his face set in a straight face ― not frowning, not exactly smiling.

She swallowed, and steered her eyes on the trees that seemed to be bowing down to them as they drove on, like they've been sculpted specifically just for this hour, this _moment_ and for a second, Elsa forgot where she was, and who she was with.

Summer was lovely ― no it was definitely not the ever-so-beautiful Winter she adored ― but it was lovely.

She gingerly raised her right hand and waved into the wind, felt as it rushed into the spaces between her fingers, kissing quick goodbyes-and-hellos because she's never done this before, she thought ― never driven in a convertible, never had _Bruce Springsteen_ in the background in the lowest volume, never had the wind truly on her face. She thought again that she liked this to happen more, although that mindset was absurd, but she did. She wished.

She didn't catch the way his eyes fell on her, a content expression flashed across his features. "You're enjoying yourself there?"

Elsa caught herself and gradually curled her fingers into her palm, sending a quick, shy, pathetic smile to Hans ― she was never really the one to 'zoned out', as Anna would have put it. At least, not about trees and the wind and Summer. "I― I got distracted. Sorry. Is―is this your car?"

"Yes. It's not my _shiniest_ car..." His tone dripped with mock, and Elsa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He smirked. "But it'll do. Do you like it?"

"It's nice." She commented, allowing her head to fall back against the seat, relenting to the way the breeze danced across her skin. It really was a good day.

"Hm," he hummed, "I'm glad." He was quiet for a while, before: "So, tell me again ― what _are_ you studying at that school of yours?"

"Um," she blinked, and let her hand fell back to her laps. "I'm― I'm studying Snow Science."

"Snow Science?" There's a prickle of genuine interest lapped in his voice, and Elsa fought off a small smile.

"Yes." She repeated. "Snow Science." And then, she looked back up at the trees that were lessening as they drove on, until they're driving into the familiar roads which Kai usually took whenever he drove her here. _Finally_, a voice whispered, _a definite topic she was comfortable in_. Elsa suppressed a grin, "It's a... _foundation_ provided by the Department of Earth Science at Walt Elias'. It's just, uh, generally, the study of geography, physics, engineering, chemistry, statistics, ecology and, um, hydrology― revolving around snow, of course." Elsa shrugged her shoulders, "I know it sounds like a lot, but it's not that bad, really."

"You like it?"

"I do. I do." She responded, smiling slight as her mind recalled the shrill of snowflakes on her fingertips, and the light illuminating across her parents' face while the aurora danced from above their heads, "The professor is a very knowledgable man," she supplied. "And the students aren't half-bad."

Hans looked like he's considering her words over, "And you've been studying this for...?"

Elsa blinked, and ― "Um, I'll be going into my final year. I'm currently taking the undergraduate degree and I'm― I'm hoping to continue in the graduate program at Walt's Snow and Avalanche Lab."

"Grad?"

"Yes." She nodded, expecting the reaction.

Hans eyed her, "And you're twenty-one?"

"Almost," she answered back, screwing her mouth shut afterwards.

"You're intelligent." Hans said with an edge to his voice ― though she wasn't so sure if it was simply a statement, or a question.

"I just― my father― when I was young― he'd always take me, I mean, _us_, my mama, sister and I to _places_, you know. For experiments, just to gather various of reports. I mean, Anna was very young, but I― I remember." Elsa smiled at a fond memory of her parents, her mother's dark hair getting caught in the winds as they stood by _Iguazu Falls_, her father's gripping her by the waist while he's hoisting her by his hips, and pointing _there, Elsa, do you see it? Isn't it beautiful?_ "I like it. I want to do what he'd been doing. It's not about― _smart_," she cringed at that word, "It's about being ambitious."

He clicked his tongue. "Ambitious," he repeated under his breath, "Sounds familiar."

Elsa watched him.

Hans chanced her a look from the corner of his eyes, and hiked up his brows. "So, Snow Science?"

Elsa nodded solemnly, "We once traveled around... um, the _Arctic Circle_. I mean, mostly, we avoided the north because of the extreme climates but, um― there's, well, _snow_. And, I guess... I fell in love with it. The cold never seems to bother me, truthfully."

"In love?" He frowned, "That's an odd use of word."

"No," she frowned back, "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is." He pressed on, his eyes widened. "But, I'm not judging you, or anything, Elsa. I'm glad. Plus, isn't that how your parents built up Arendelle? From all those travelling and experiences? With the help of your Aunt, of course."

"I― I guess."

There's a thoughtful look passed across his expression, before he let out a breath and: "Is... that why you're like this?"

"Like what?" She stared at him, confused.

"Your anxiety. It's that why you have it?" He glanced briefly, his lips fell in one flat line. "Because of the travelings? I imagine it musn't be an easy experience gathering friends. Was it?"

Elsa felt her stomach churned, and she shifted herself slightly in the passenger's seat, suddenly the effect of Summer vanished, slowly, and the sweats rolled over her palms. She tried to wipe it off her dress, and bit her inner cheeks. "N―no. It wasn't because of the travelling." _In fact, it had nothing to do with it_. Elsa shut her eyes.

She heard he drew his breath out in short, quick gasp, "Are you not going to tell me?"

_No_.

She breathed in slowly ― suddenly his voice blurred into the background, and all she could see was icy blue eyes, pleading back into hers. She licked her lips, quickly, hastily and blurted out, "Eric stopped by."

The car screeched when Hans pulled it to a halt almost immediately. Elsa felt her lungs shook from inside her ribcage, and her breath fell back to her mouth all at the same time, and she was about to yell of how _insane_ he was when she spotted the all-too-familiar red lights and gritted her teeth. Her chest hurts, she noted. The impact was not a wonderful experience. She chanced a look at him, to notice that his shoulders were squared and his eyes were in a silent rage. When he spoke, his voice was almost wasn't his, "Eric?"

"Your c-cousin," she reminded. "Eric?"

"Ah, yes. I _do_ recall him." Hans mocked, his voice was thick. "Why was he there?"

"I― I don't know. He just― he was _just there_."

"Just _there?_" He asked, like everything she said didn't make any sense. It probably didn't.

She bit her bottom lips, "D-do you have any _problems_ with him― _with_ _Eric?_"

Hans let out a huff of breath, a dissatisfied one, his attention snapped back at the road, but his fingers moved uneasily on the steering wheel, his stance appeared stiffer. Elsa was about to take back her words ― perhaps she _had_ gone too far ― when he continued, a beat of anger followed through, "Not the kind you must be thinking, I presume. Eric and I... we grew up together, if you must know."

"Y-you did?"

"I don't trust him," he said, and finally turned to her, his emerald eyes straight into her blue ones. "I don't trust him with _you_."

_What_. She frowned, utterly confused.

"Eric..." He sighed through his nostrils, and Elsa thought he looked as though someone had just dropped the world's burden over his shoulders without any explanation, and expected him to be done with it with high excellency by midnight. His tone darkened, "What did he say to you, Elsa?"

"He―" Elsa felt her mouth dried up. "He told me he was just stopping by. That he was curious. Of― well, of me." Technically it wasn't a lie, and a part of Elsa didn't dwell long on the guilt. She swallowed.

The light turned green, finally, and Hans began driving again. "Is that _all_ he said to you?"

_Who's Aurora?_ She wanted to ask, but instead, she managed: "He said a few more things, but nothing noteworthy. W―why?"

"Did he... mentioned anything? _Anyone?_"

"Well..." Elsa played with the hem of her dress, her palms still collecting sweats. "He brought up your grandmother."

"That son of a bitch." Hans cursed under his breath, his arm suddenly pulled back, until he sprang it over and his palm hit against the steering wheel. _Hard_. He gritted his teeth, his frown deepening ― a second later, he ran his fingers through his flaming, red hair, using the same hand, his mouth releasing a noticeable hiss. "Don't worry about him. I'll take care of it."

Elsa's mind was rattled ― _take care?_ "What... what are you going to do with him?"

Hans actually narrowed his eyes at her, "Jesus, Elsa, I'm not going to _murder_ him or anything. Calm down." He drawled, and exhaled again through his nostrils, heavily, "We'll have a talk, I suppose. As decent as our 'talks' can be, anyway. On the contrary to your belief, I actually have a compromising relationship with Eric."

_Compromising?_ "You aren't in the best term with him?"

"I trust him." He told with a clip. "He's known me for too long, and it's a fact that I've depended on him from times to times."

"You trust him?"

Hans let a beat passed, and then: "It's because I trust him, that I don't trust him with _you_."

Elsa's brows pulled together again, puzzled, but she didn't voice it out.

A few minutes later, while Hans drove them to one corner, she heard him cleared his throat and she glanced at him ― watched how the Summer's sun had it tricks on him; deepening the pink hues painting over his cheeks, the glistening thin of sweats over his skin, the trail of his tongue when he licked his bottom lips. Elsa averted her eyes away, quickly. All of a sudden, he asked, "Do you trust _me_, Elsa?"

That was easy. "No."

She felt her heart twisted at the one-second span of silence which followed, awaiting for his respond. She didn't dare face him, and gripped the seat of his convertible.

He hummed. "I guess it's only appropriate." He drummed his fingers over the steering wheel, "You _shouldn't_ trust me."

_Then, why am I here? _She turned to him.

And because he was Hans ― he smirked.

* * *

><p>"Guess what?" He asked a minute later. "You have now been officially invited to your first formal event."<p>

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong> 6,145 word count. I've exceeded my word limit ― _again_ ― and for the first time, I'm not feeling very good about it. Usually, when I write more than 4,000 words, I actually have something _good_ written on, but I'm not very confident with this chapter. Anyway, enough with my pathetic self-pity rambling, I _do_ hope you had a good read and I appreciate all the feedbacks I've gotten so far. Please review if you have the time ― it would absolutely make my day. Thank you.

**PS**: And actually, Hans is taking her shopping. Just to make it clear to you guys. Because leave it to Hans to go into super detail and freakishly insane when presenting a _certain_ appearance ― at least, he is, in my head ― now that he's gotten Elsa invited into an event. (I'll walk away now because _yes_, my headcanon sucks)

**Edited**: 3/1/2014, 11:36 AM.


	4. IV

_**"I**_ love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
>in secret, between the shadow and the soul."<br>― Pablo Neruda, _100 Love Sonnets_

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><p><strong>IV<strong>

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><p>.<p>

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_I love you_  
>(if I ever will)<p>

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_between the shadows_  
><em>and soul<em>  
>(of everything <strong>dark<strong>, everything you)

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"I understand that you've been invited to the youngest Prescott's coming-of-age celebration."

Her Aunt said, like a _drip-drip-dripping_ of glinting water, fell from the edge of a leaf, onto the ground ― but it was not rainy, and it was not water ― but it is pure, and it is sincere. Unfortunately, all Elsa heard was _his_ voice, lining up with the rest of her thoughts, echoing in her mind ― "That's just a fancy way of saying 'Happy Birthday', honestly."

He was mocking ― and she agreed.

...

Elsa detached her lips from the lid of the china tea cup with ease, her head tipping just a degree up at her Aunt, who sat across from her at the small table, the evening sun surrounded them while they sat at the veranda and Elsa hid her thoughts that under the warm atmosphere they were in, Aunt Primrose somehow gave an impression of a softer smile, and a smoother skin ― Elsa also didn't mention that in that _one_ blink of an eye, she saw her own mother, and not her Aunt.

She slipped her fingers further down the china tea cup, felt the heat followed her fingertips and she nodded her head. "Yes, Auntie." She said.

"And how do you feel about that?" Aunt Primrose asked, her voice a chime against the wind, her eyes reflecting the pink-orange sky.

Elsa didn't know how to answer her question, she thought frankly, and felt her stomach dropped. Her hands began to shook and all Elsa could see was her hands, holding her baby sister, fallen and bloody, and yelling '_Mama! Papa!_' as she tugged Anna's body closer and prayed ― _come on now, wake up Anna, wake up, I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm sorry_. Elsa hastily put the cup on the table, later on clenching her fingers into her own palms. She swallowed.

"I'm excited, Auntie."

She chanced her Aunt a quick, forced smile, hoping it'll convince the older woman, although she knew better. Aunt Primrose didn't say anything if she took notice of her insincerity, and she must had, when the only thing the older woman did was took another sip from her cup. Within a breath of a second, Aunt Primrose asked again, "And I also understand that Hans would be your date for the event?"

Elsa felt something flipped in her stomach that nearly resembled her everyday anxiety, though this felt _different_. Felt as though it only happened when _that_ particular name was mentioned. That damn man. (Elsa resisted the urge to roll her eyes and scoffed way rudely at his name, just like she always would, whenever he sauntered over and pretended that he had known her since even before birth) "He― he didn't say."

"But was it implied?"

"Implication cannot be trusted, Auntie." Elsa chose to reply. "Unless it is stated, I am not sure."

"Well then, it _is_ stated so, my dear. He asked Thomas and I earlier when he came over to give him the permission to take you to the Prescott's coming-of-age celebration as his date. We both agreed, as long as you are willing to go with him. Are you willing, Elsa?" Her Aunt passed her a look, raising one eyebrow.

Elsa licked her lips, "I― I guess."

"He took you out shopping, didn't he? Earlier today? Just for that event."

"Y-yes." _He also fancied me going into a lingerie shop, but of course, you don't need to know that_.

"Did you have fun?"

Elsa took the time to think that question through ― did she had fun? That was an odd question. Her Aunt could have asked, did she had a good time, was it pleasant ― but _fun?_ Did it mattered if she had fun? _Did it?_ Elsa pondered over this while her mind racked through the tiresome evening she went through ― the way Hans snapped his fingers and more dresses was shoved onto her arms, the way he looked at her, gestured her to twirl until she was convinced the world was upside down, and rejected it even though it took more than half-an-hour to begin wearing another one.

So, Elsa sighed, and decided to tell one truth. "It was tiring, Auntie. I don't know how someone could go all day shopping. My feet _hurts_."

Aunt Primrose chuckled, a healthy glow coloured her face and Elsa wondered if she'd look _that_ good when she was Auntie's age. She hoped she does. "It always does," Auntie supplied, taking another sip from her tea cup. "Is that all what you did? _Shopping?_"

"Well..." Elsa played her nails, tugging it across the skin on her thumb and ducked her head lower, a small smile absent-mindedly painted across her lips, "We took a break at Starbucks once he claimed he found the 'perfect dress', and― he brought me home."

"Is that all?" Aunt Primrose prodded, one eyebrow hiking up. "Did you two talk, at all?"

"Of course we did." Elsa answered quickly ― embarrassed to think that she would sound so _puny_ in front of her own Aunt, because she can't be. She can't _allow_ herself to be. Not after the years spent behind closed doors, not after the nights spent with Anna's pleas and knocks thudded in her skull, not after the hours she went talking _this_ to a therapist, thinking that maybe she was a problem, that she was boring, that they could have spent their time better _than talking to her_ ― no. She remembered the way Hans' eyes glanced over to her that evening, at the counter, and he was staring at her, sorta intently, like he'd known something of her that she didn't, and then he was smiling ― not grinning, not leering, not smirking ― and he brushed a thumb over her cheekbones; slowly, carefully.

Almost ― well, _lovingly_.

They were talking a few seconds prior before he did that, and she remembered feeling satisfied― because she'd never really worn a dress before, and though the dress wasn't of her favourite colour, it had felt good. _She_ felt good. She told him this, she thought and that's when it happened. Until, of course, he took his hand back, with easy movement, as if that was all in his plan, though she knew it mustn't be because through the cool mask he wore, she saw the flicker of hesitation, the _what am I doing?_ echoing in his head, but then he tipped his head to the side and said ― "Why don't we go to Starbucks?"

And they _did_ talk ― he told him about his brothers and various tales of when he grew up, and she said, "The Southern Isles must be a wonderful place to grow up in."

She didn't bring up the beat of darkness passed over his expression after she said that, but he licked his lips and grinned ― "It had its moments, I admit."

"I like it," she remembered herself saying, smiling a little at the napkin by her fingertips as memories of the tall, green trees enveloped her train of thoughts, and the wide meadow, and the old, wooden workshop that had trails leading up to it ― she smiled a little bit more. "I like the Southern Isles."

There's a thoughtful glint brimming across his features when he was considering her words, and then: "You're welcomed then."

"What?" When she looked up, he was already stirring more onto his hot drink, his eyes on the bits of smoke which came off, evaporating.

"To the Southern Isles. You're welcomed there any day, anytime." Hans shrugged his shoulders, appearing nonchalant. "A large place like that deserves more company."

_Like that party the other day? _She almost snapped in return.

― "Do you think Hans fancies you?"

_What_.

Elsa blinked at her Aunt's wide eyes, her mind tracking back her Aunt's last question until it halted and, once again ― _what_. "Auntie!"

Aunt Primrose looked amused, smiling gently. "He's a good looking young man, Elsa."

"I-I ―" Elsa stared down at her laps, and ignored the burning sensation crawling up her neck up to her cheeks. Hans? _Fancies?_ He didn't fancy anyone― everyone fancied _him_. She was, well, she was like a living prop ― a project, perhaps, to him. Elsa's guts twisted and suddenly, her mind recalled Eric's voice ― _Aurora. Ask him why_. Why hasn't he walked away.

Why?

"He doesn't like me, Auntie." Elsa told, her voice thin with any sort of emotions. "He's merely helping me."

"Helping?"

"He wants me to get better with, well, _socialising_. I need this. He knows about... about my _condition_, and he didn't mind lending me a help. He's―" _Hans_. Elsa felt her bile turned bitter, and she pondered on how to finish her sentences. He's _good?_ He's _kind?_ Because Elsa did not feel good, or kind from him ― in fact, if he was good and kind, he was the most pathetic forms of those genuine moral concepts possible.

She wondered, momentarily, of what he would have done if he were here, reading her mind.

"He's helping." Aunt Primrose repeated, her tone too, turned expressionless. "And how do you feel about this?"

Ah. Now she felt familiar ― sitting at the big chair across from an older woman, her worn eyes questioning her, and there's an empty notebook on her laps, and she's dotting her pen across from it, while she asked, "_And how do you feel about that, Elsa?_"

"I― I just... I think I need this, for now." Elsa answered hesitantly, "He hasn't done anything wrong towards me yet." _Well, not anything you should know_. "And I don't hope he would." _Again_.

Aunt Primrose hummed thoughtfully, her worn eyes glancing over the scenery of the evening once again. "I'm glad you and Hans are getting along perfectly, dear."

_Perfectly_, the word thudded in Elsa's head for a couple of times, dragging it over to the base of her skull so it was embed, for it to leave a bitter effect at the edge of tongue, at the tip of her nose. She cringed. Perfect, she thought, was the way the ice felt between her grasp, the way Anna's green eyes changed in the cold Winter, the way the hues deepened on Rapunzel's cheek when she laughed, covered in snow. Hans and her getting along shouldn't be define with the word _perfect: _when they went along, it meant that they went along. And that was just that.

Elsa didn't notice that she had her hand on the table which separated her from her Aunt ― and Aunt Primrose had also reached over to grasp on it. She felt awkward when she realised this, but it was soon replaced with the kind of warm she privately craved for, the one she thought she'd lost when the police officers knocked on their doors, wearing sullen expressions, eyes dropped over and mouth curled: _I'm sorry to inform you, miss, but we've found your parents_...

Her Aunt's smile reached through her and yanked her back to the reality when she said, "But I need you to be careful, Elsa. A lot of things happened to people ― and Hans... I mean, the Southern Isles' brothers aren't of any exceptions. Especially to what happened behind their main gate when they are closed."

"What..." Elsa frowned at their grasping hands and her mind was torn over. This was the second time she had a warning stapled over Hans' forehead ― and sure, her Aunt had corrected her word and used the terms 'Southern Isles' brothers' instead, but it doesn't escape the knowledge that it _still_ connected with Hans― and suddenly, her Aunt's touched burned. "What happened to Hans? Why do I need to be careful?"

"It's not just _Hans_, dear." Her Aunt sighed and there's aggravation staggering about in her ageing expression, "Being careful applied to everyone you meet. But..."

"But?"

"But Hans―" Aunt Primrose caught herself and squeezed her grip reassuringly, although it did anything but. "There are stories, and I don't how much the truth is really in it, but I've seen him before, and I've seen him now, and I don't want anything bad happening to you."

"Bad? Auntie, I don't understand."

"Perhaps we shall see," Aunt took back her hand, and straightened her back, her eyes back to the scenery ahead of them. "After all, everybody deserves a second chance."

_Second chance?_

"Remember, Elsa. Be careful. Do you understand?"

She didn't, but nodded anyway.

* * *

><p>The dress came two days later, just like Hans told her it would.<p>

Oddly though, it wasn't Elsa who welcomed it. Anna and Rapunzel squealed with the utmost energy they could muster as they climbed up the stairs, straight into her room, just to inform her that her dress had arrived. Elsa was perplexed at first, until ― _ah, that dress_. Of course she remembered it. They went into three shops and perhaps 37 dresses just to find 'the perfect one'. Elsa wasn't particularly sure if it was perfect or if it was not, all that she knew was each one of the dresses she tried was ridiculously expensive and she didn't know how someone could spend dollars buying more than necessary.

And that _still_ doesn't include the shoes he bought for her.

"Oh, Elsa, you look _so_ beautiful!" Rapunzel's sigh caught her attention and Elsa focused back on her reflection on the mirror, and for that one second, she remembered looking at Hans' reflection in it too, somewhere behind her, his eyes sharp but delighted as he curled a smile, "That's it." He said, "We've found it."

Of course now she was in the fitting room at the Corona Manor and the only other people present with her was Gerda, Rapunzel and Anna. She dragged her blue eyes back at the mirror and she fooled herself for a moment to think that she was indeed beautiful. Hans had chosen her a simple green dress, that went long and fitted around her body ― her snowy hair went loose and fell behind her back like it had never been done before, not in front of just anybody. She'd always kept it in a bun, or a braid. It was tidier that way ― and tidier always gave the best impression, right?

She passed a look at Gerda, resisting the urge to chew her lips and touched a strain of her not-so-wavy hair, and it felt light in her palm. "Maybe we should have it in a bun?" She asked, a little meekly, because now that she's seeing herself again in this dress, the truth was clearer than before: she _was_ going to go to a formal event, she _was_ going to present herself in the society, officially now ― and everyone will expect something from her, although she's not entirely certain _what_, but they sure will considering the name she carried, a ghost of her parents treading behind.

Elsa felt her breath catching up in her throat, and her chest swelled over.

"Perhaps in a half-updo. That will surely look better." Elsa snapped at the new, foreign voice only to see Aunt Primrose by the doorframe, the way the light shone on her face once again mistaken Elsa for her own mother ― but that was impossible because Mama was gone, and she needed to accept that. She smiled, a little sadly, a little with relief.

"Green. Who would have thought you'd look as amazingly in them as you are in blue?" Aunt Primrose now took a step forward inside of the room, earning approving giggles from both Anna and Rapunzel.

"Isn't it kind of amazing that he sorta tricked you into wearing his family's official colour?" Rapunzel suddenly hummed, swinging her feet back and forth as she sit at the edge of the bed, her bright eyes trained on the green dress still.

"What?" Elsa whispered, confused for a moment.

Rapunzel was too transfixed on the dress that it took the blond a couple of moments to finally registered what Elsa said and to have her responded, "Oh. You know." She shrugged her shoulders simply, like it wasn't much big of a deal. And it probably wasn't. Or it shouldn't be. "Like how some family had a colour or symbol to represent them ― like Corona, for example, used the symbol of sun and the colour of purple. And Southern Isles' official colour is green and the symbol of chrysanthemum blooming."

Ah. Elsa thought she's seen it before. Of course she had. It was the insignia plastered across the main gate up to the Southern Isles. She shouldn't have suspected anything less.

"Seriously?" quipped Anna, her thumbs and forefinger placed on the screen as she aimed the phone's camera on the dress, "I just thought he chose this because it would went well with his eyes."

"Or it could be that too," Rapunzel smiled gingerly, and beamed up at her older cousins.

"Could you please― _stop_― taking pictures?" Elsa turned to her sister, taking a full lock of her hair and tucked in between her fingers, suddenly feeling insecure.

"What―why can't I? You're friggin' beautiful, and it's totally going into my Instagram― oooooh, or maybe I'll post it on twitter and send it to Devon― remember him? Hans' eleventh brother? ― yeah, he followed me a few days back and now we're like super best friends, and he sends me the funniest dog pics on surfboards ever. He's such a cool person." Anna looked too content in her own bubble of happiness that Elsa didn't know whether to be annoyed, or just as delighted. Her younger sister could be so... unimaginable peppy sometimes.

"Do you wanna see some of the pics he sent me?" Anna turned to Rapunzel ― like she always would because Rapunzel would always be genuinely interested in whatever she had to show, and the strawberry-blonde was very much aware of this ― and as expected, the blond smiled wider, nodding her head and peering into Anna's phone.

Elsa caught the way Aunt Primrose shook her head, a faint smile present on her worn face, before she intoned: "Devon? You don't mean Devon Andersen, do you dear?"

"Yeah. Him, Auntie." Anna looked up momentarily from her phone screen, locking eyes with their aunt.

"Then, you _shouldn't_ be posting the photos of your sister to him. After all, she's supposed to surprise the youngest of Andersens the next day. And that would most likely won't happen if Hans already knew what to expect."

"I don't think it matters, Auntie." Elsa interrupted, waving it away. "He already saw me in this." He _did_ bought her this dress.

"Of course it matters, sweetheart." Aunt Primrose got back on her feet, cupping Elsa's pale cheeks into her own palms, smiling gently. "You're going to be such an exceptional beauty tomorrow, that Hans, and everybody else, wouldn't able to keep their eyes off of you."

"I― I don't think―" Elsa hesitated, and hid her sweaty palms at the bottom of her spine. _I don't think I want that_.

In fact, it would be better if she'd just come in, had a few drinks, perhaps (if she really needed to) talk to a few people and go home. That was all. Easy way in, easy way out. And― she didn't need to_ play dress up_ just for Hans. That man didn't even genuinely liked her. He was just, he tolerated her, the _most_.

"Now, let's see you with these shoes."

* * *

><p>For the most part, everything kind of happened in a quick, big blur.<p>

Elsa didn't know what happened.

She thought everything had went well ― until it didn't. She remembered the glinting of the Manor as it invited her, the way the evening summer breeze ghosted over her exposed skin, the way Hans was staring at the building calculatingly and the way he smirked over to her, asked her if she was ready for this. She thought she was. She honestly thought she was.

Aunt Primrose worked so hard to deepen the blush on her cheeks, to make every art that was make-up alive on her face ― _lightly, but make sure it's striking!_ ― and her hair was done in a half-updo, and the braids weren't out of place and the jewellery didn't feel heavy as she thought it would, and she could still feel the warmth when Rapunzel hugged her, her positive excitement more or less rubbing off on her and Anna, teary-eyed, taking pictures with her beloved phone ― "Gosh, you look _so_ beautiful."

And then her little sister had stumbled into her arms ― the force of her hug still had its lingering effects even if it's been hours since ― and there's a chocked outtake of air, before: "You look just like mom, Elsa."

And for the first time in forever, she wasn't threaten by it.

That changed a couple of hours later, when she was standing there, actually engaging herself in a conversation when one of the older women ― where did she came from again? ― the one with the funny accent remarked, "Arendelle? You don't say ― _the_ Arendelle? I knew there were heiresses, but I'd never thought..." The women looked at her funny, in between exchanging hidden, judgemental eyes over to the other women and young ladies, as if they were living a movie and everyone knew the script except for her. "Say, young lass, what happened years ago when the Arendelle suddenly shuts itself up?"

"Shuts itself up?" Another young voice interrupted ― a young lady that must have been around Elsa's age, one that looked like she knew enough to get by a social event like this with her long eye-lashes and full lips, but also clueless enough with all the stories and the political talks that went about.

"Shut itself up― Arendelle used to be like an open book, like the rest of us, if you get what I mean. And then, one day― _woosh!_ They closed their gates, they sealed themselves from public, and that was that. There's not much to it of them, and for the most years up to the accident, they were awfully quiet." The women returned her attention back to her again, her lips snarled into a nasty curl. "What happened, dear? Surely it couldn't be _that_ bad."

Elsa couldn't speak.

She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't _think._

Of course she knew what happened behind their closed gates― she was there when it happened― _she_ was the reason why it happened. She was the one who designed the path to her own self-destruction, she was the one who forced her parents to be so closed about their personal lives that even a mention of it sent them tensing all the way up to their bones, she was the reason Anna ― young, young Anna ― had her head bandaged up, and drugged on for days until she could utter a proper sentences without saying something that wasn't true.

And then, they were staring at her. _Waiting_. And Elsa could see it ― the speculations running in their heads, the false theories dancing across their tongues. Papa wouldn't approve of this. If he were here, he would have stirred her elsewhere, apologised to the young women and offered them another story for their own amusement. All charming, and curt, and easy.

But it wasn't Papa who came back from the grave to rip her away from the situation ― no, it was Hans.

Charming, handsome Hans that told lies like he was lying down facts ― no pauses in his voice, no pitch to his tone, no mask falling from his expression ― all perfect, all fake. Elsa saw him from the corner of her eyes ― he excused himself a minute earlier so he could talk to a young lady with copper hair that matched her sister's ― and she saw how much he was enjoying his conversation with her. The girl must be tipsy, the one Hans was talking to, twirling a curly strain of her hair that fell from her bun flirtatiously, licking her lips now and then.

And he moved, just like that, once he spotted her ― shoulders all squared, face paler than snow. And he left the tipsy girl― he moved like he lies: no pauses, no hesitation, no looking back. It was one of those quite moments when Elsa honestly wondered how he did it.

"I―I apologize, but you'll have to excuse me," Elsa managed at last, just when he's a step away from her and turned around, stalking herself away from there. Hans followed her, and hushing her if she was okay, but she _wasn't_ and ― "I just need a moment."

Though she still questioned how she did it ― she ran.

* * *

><p>He felt his blood rushed through and his chest contracted and expanded all at once when his phone rang ― he didn't waste a second, didn't even bother checking the caller ID when her voice came through. "Hans." She called, breathless, scared and alone. <em>She was alone<em>.

Fuck. "Where are you, Elsa?"

* * *

><p>And she said, "I need to tell you something."<p>

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When he came, it was quiet. And it was dark.  
>And Elsa breathed.<p>

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"Elsa."

...

He called when he stood in front of her, and she felt her stomach churned but she didn't face him ― _couldn't_ face him ― because she didn't know what she expected from him, but she knew she wouldn't like the answer either way. So she kept her eyes on her laps, her chin droop down and suddenly, she noted, the green dress lost its wonderful effect on her.

She was sure she was somewhat pretty that night.

They were at a park. She wasn't sure where. But she's sitting there at one of the swings and she thought, if she tried hard enough, she'll go back to being seven, and Anna being four and everything was at it were before _it_ happened, before everything crashed and burned, and she was laughing and _this won't destroy her_, no it won't. And it almost did, remember? Those days where she'd found Anna's sleeping outside the hallway, just in front of her door, in protest of her sister's refusal to come out. All those hard times. When Mama and Papa passed away. When Aunt Primrose and Uncle Thomas took them in, and they sat her down and confronted her.

She swallowed, and gripped on the metal that held the swing she's sitting on. "I need to tell you something."

He didn't respond, and he didn't move, and he must be trying to figure this out, plotting what's best to do in this situation, because it would seemed like what Hans would do. Though he held his mysteries, Elsa was certain that some of his actions were predictable. And she predicted that. She also predicted that he will sigh, and he will try to usher her to "come on, Elsa. Let's go home", or he'll offer to take her for a drive and perhaps, they'll listen to some _Fleetwood Mac_ because they weren't so bad the last time she'd heard them ― but he didn't.

He knelt down in front of her ― _right in front of her_ ― on the ground, his knees tucked under him, and he tilted his head up, his emerald eyes dimmed under the night's sky, but it was oddly bright when it met her blue ones. He didn't even flinch.

"I'm sorry," she managed first, her voice cracking slightly and she held a sob, looking away.

And though Elsa knew she should have expected something cruel coming from his mouth, she didn't expect him to roll his eyes, in that way of his that suggested how _annoyed_ he was and said: "Don't be stupid, Elsa. You have nothing to be sorry about. You know that."

"Still―"

"Still _nothing_." He pressed on, taking her hands and tugged it on her laps ― his touches oddly warmer than she'd remember it to be. "You didn't do anything wrong. That's final. Alright?"

She held her tears, and didn't take her hands out of his grasp, not when he's slowly rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. Pulling on her brows, she noted, sorta out of place, "You took off your gloves." Because she was sure he was wearing it for the rest of the event ― hand-sewn, white gloved which fitted perfectly into framing his thin, long fingers, especially when he brushed it over her bare skin, sending shivers down to the pit of her stomach, as well as with any other ladies he came in contact with. Elsa would know ― she saw the looks they sent him, the way their touches lingered longer than it should, the way they eyed her with an almost unnoticed trace of envy.

"That I did." He responded back, his eyes dropped down to his own exposed fingers, and there's something dark which went passed his features. "I used to like wearing them. I didn't make it a habit taking them off, ever."

She watched him through her lashes, "What happened?"

"I shook off the habit." He told, with a clip. "I don't wear gloves now. And if I did, it was only to enhance my appearance."

_Of course_. She hiccuped. "I need to tell you something."

"That's the third time you've said that."

"I―" She began and felt the weight of hesitation as it crossed her, played with her instinct. For a moment, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth ― _if this went on, she won't go anywhere_. She knew that. Which was why she was here. Which was why she decided on telling him of _that_ part of her life, even though it would probably end up as a reckless on her part because who was Hans for her to believe in so much that she felt like she owed him _this_? This truth. He was just the guy who kissed her the first time they met, the guy who openly insulted her, and also the guy who forced her into breaking a law. He was _the definition_ of the person she shouldn't felt like she owed to on anything. But here she was anyway. She gulped, shredding her cowardice as long as she dared to, "I never told anyone this. Not really."

Minus her own family, and her therapists of course.

She chanced him a quick glance to catch the way he squinted his eyes, just a little, up at her, like he was considering this, until he looked away, a deep frown lied upon his expression and took his hands from her own, having the tips of his fingertips graced along the pants and the material which covered his knees. "I don't believe it's wise for you to trust me with―"

"No," she quickly objected, like she was trying to reach to him before he finally decided it ― whatever it was that needed deciding ― and had her fingers up to him, but she retreated him as soon as his emerald eyes fell back to her, and she slowly grasped again onto the metal that held the swings. "Just― hear me out, okay?"

_Just listen, will you?_

He stared at her for the longest of times, until ― "Okay."

She bit her lips, hesitated and sighed. "You... You knew of my father, right? He's... he was one of the smartest man alive. And then he had me." Elsa paused there, because she saw herself, her younger self, probably around four years year old, running into her father's arm, wind catching in her hair as he laughed, kissed her cheeks. "I was, what you might called, a child prodigy. At age six, I was already fluent in two languages and was learning another one. I've read literatures as a young lady would, and I knew things most six years old didn't. I was _exposed_ to that way of learning, and I was enjoying it. I truly did." She whispered the last part, trembling slightly.

"When I was turning seven, my father taught me about chemistry. And we'll do various of experiments together. We'll mix chemicals and changed colours and wrote equations. It was nothing sort of _dangerous_, of course. He... he taught me well. He knew of my intelligence, and he challenged it. He kept me... interested. And so did Anna." Elsa gave out a quick, short smile at this, recalling a chubby four-year-old Anna, smiling and exclaiming 'ooh's and 'aah's at their results. "She wasn't born with the... _intelligence_ I had, but she kept up somehow. She always stayed, always treated it like a game. Nothing short of sorts. I guess... I guess I should have expected it."

She should have.

Elsa winced, before she continued. "One night... one night, I was eight then, Anna woke me up and insisted we did this experiment where we could create this small explosion of colours. It was a harmless experiment, one that I gave critical eye into. I checked, you know. I checked everything. I made _sure_ we followed all the safety procedures. I followed every instructions there were. But I turned my back for just one second, _one second_―" Elsa gasped and fought herself to gather her breath as that night rushed into her, thudding her head with flows of echoed cries and judgemental stares. She didn't realise that Hans had her hands in between his hold again, his thumbs went over the mountains of her knuckles, pressing on the spaces in between. His expression soured, like he didn't want to be here, or he didn't want to listen to this, but his stance were solid and― he _was_ here, and he _was_ listening. And she _was_ telling.

She swallowed again. "Anna were standing on a stool, and... she didn't hear what I said and poured the chemical in too much that― that it exploded."

"She... was she hurt?" Hans managed, his eyes pinching in ultimate seriousness, his tone told her that he wasn't sure if he should ask her, but the question was out, and there's no point of trying to get it back. _Was she hurt? _His query echoed, louder than the sound of cars speeding through by the road around the park.

_Badly_. "She... she fell from her stool and― she hit her head at the edge of a table behind her. I― I didn't mean―" Elsa breathed out, pursing her lips until: "There were so much blood, Hans. So much. And she cried. She cried when she fell and when her little body toppled over on the floor... she didn't move. She didn't even seem like she was breathing. I panicked. I- I didn't know what to do. All that I know was that my sister's head was bleeding, and it _was all my fault_."

Hans stared at her, his mouth set in a tight grim, but he didn't look away. He didn't look at her and cringed his nose and retreated his hands and was breathing _you're the enemy, Elsa_. But he wasn't welcoming either. She honestly didn't expect him to.

"Mama and Papa came in then, and we took her to the hospital. Anna― she... experienced memory losses after that. She couldn't remember what happened, or what I was capable of― but she knew we were close as sisters. But of course by then we couldn't reveal anything to her. The doctor warned me that though my intelligence were highly praised, it won't be if it meant I'll cause damage all over. If I'll cause damage to _her_. So, we kept it a secret. My parents and I. About what I can do. We stopped travelling as much then, and if we did, I'd never go out anymore. I'll never join Anna or Papa on their expeditions. I'll stay and read books and I'll be the good girl I need to be."

_Conceal, don't show, don't feel_.

That was the mantra, right?

She released her hands from his and outstretched her fingers, panning it out, one-by-one. "I started wearing gloves, a reminder of my limits, and I'll hid myself behind closed doors and I won't talk to Anna anymore. I didn't, not for a long time. And then―" She let her hands fell back to her laps, a tired memory of her parents began to fade away, clear at first, until it became a big blur, a wave of goodbye, and "_must you go?_" and that was it. "My parents died. Auntie and Uncle immediately took us in, but nothing much has changed. Anna found a friend in Rapunzel, and for a while, everything was a little bit better, because everyone was finally moving on, and I was left to be. Until Auntie and Uncle confronted me about my... _problems_."

Elsa brushed away a strain of hair which tickled the side of her jaw, her eyes didn't meet with his. Her hands were shaking with the utmost force but she was quick to clasp it together ― _keep it together, be calm_. "Th-they sent me to talk to someone after that― and I could still remember how Auntie would wait outside the office when I'm done... _talking_. And we'll grab lunch together, and she'll talk about colleges and shared some stories of her youth with me and one day, she... she brought Anna with her. And gradually, I started getting better, and I finally faced my own fear. I told Anna the truth."

She shuddered, and finally braved herself to tip her chin upward and collided eye-contact with the young man in front of her. "I... I know I'm all kind of problems to you―"

"Stop it." Hans stressed out, his tone rough and demanding. "You're not a problem, Elsa."

"I am, Hans." She whispered out, once again dropping her stares to her laps, frowning. "I am."

"No, you're not," Hans whispered back, although it seemed like he's mostly repeating it to his own ears. He gritted his teeth. "It wasn't as though you meant to hurt your sister― you didn't do it on purpose. You love her."

"_I_ was the reason she- she was all bloody and―"

"You were _six_, and you made a _human_ mistake. It happened."

"I made a _big_ mistake."

"I've done worse." He cut in, emerald eyes sharp and glaring, just slightly. "At least what you did, all those time, you did in the mindset to protect her. I couldn't even get a pat on my back from any of my twelve brothers when I was growing up―" He cringed at that, but Elsa didn't bother pointing it out. "And― and I saw the way Anna looked at you, Elsa, when I picked you up for the evening. She _adores_ you. She cried for _you_."

She shook her head, because there's a part of her that still weren't winning against the demons, and it ate her up, bits by bits, until it became too much. _Too much_. She trembled.

"You're fucking brilliant, Elsa." He said, finally, and then, in a lower volume, he continued: "You're not a problem."

She looked up to him.

He didn't look back.

"C'mon," he said suddenly, standing on his own two feet, now towering over her sitting position on the swings. She was surprised not to find him grimacing over the dirt which managed to catch up onto the fabric of his pants, the way it covered his knees in an earthly colour, and she fluttered her lashes up at him, "Let's go."

_Go?_ "Where?"

"Anywhere." His eyes suddenly glinted, leering down to her. "Let's go to China."

She was tempted to laugh.

* * *

><p>"You said the cold never bothered you. So." He shrugged his shoulders as they walked passed the glass door of the small yoghurt shop ― the chill air of the air-conditioning immediately invited them and from the corner of her eyes, she saw him shuddered at the sudden attack of the cold.<p>

Though she tried not to, she smiled.

* * *

><p>This wasn't China, he said when he dipped into <em>her<em> yoghurt instead and smirked when she sent him a side-way glare. But this is _definitely_ better.

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_I love you, as certain dark things_  
><em>are to be loved<em>

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_in secret_

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><p><strong>Musical Inspiration<strong>: "_Empty Handed_" by Lea Michele and "_Arms_" by Christina Perri.  
><strong>Author's Note<strong>: 6,954 words. This was supposed to be longer, but guess who got lazier? And I'm totally in love with all of your speculations behind Hans' sketchy character― it is _such_ a wonderful thing to read and consider over. You guys are totally awesome. Once again, leave a review if you have the time and thank you for the read (and basically, for putting up with me and bare my idiocy for four chapters like I know I suck okay).  
><strong>PS<strong>: Too much Frozen preferences? Hmmm. I think YES. But― _I DON'T CARE I LOVE IT_

**Edited**: 3/20/2014, 5:06 PM.


	5. V

_**"P**_assion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting, and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir, open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us, guides us. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred, the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead."  
>— Joss Whedon.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>V<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>This<em>—" She cringed, "―is not a invitation card. This is the tray waitresses use to hold the plates!"

From Elsa's— very close, very near— right side, Hans chuckled, his emerald eyes dragging from all the invitation cards he was holding to look up amusingly at Anna, who's still had her eyes trained on the cards, frowning. "Seriously," she pressed on. "This is ridiculous. Do people actually do this? Just to send them a '_Hi! You're invited to my birthday party_', like what's the use of facebook invite page if people are walking around pouring money into _this?_"

"Anna." Elsa warned, one brow hiked up to her sister.

"_What?_" Anna put her hands up as defence, backing up slightly. "I'm just _sayin'_. You're the science geek— shouldn't you like, I don't know, start a revolution or something 'cause though I admit I _do_ look like I don't know a lot about nature, I don't exactly want to grow up and go around explaining to my children _how tree looks like_." She pulled up her phone, her elbows thudded against the wooden table, "Seriously — like have you seen the beginning of _Tara Nova?_"

Elsa sighed.

Hans chuckled even more so.

Rapunzel, who had always been more interested in the reactions which happened around her, beamed up at them before she returned to the cards, observing them all.

"You're absolutely right," chirped Hans brightly, and Elsa nearly groaned. She gave him a pointed look — _don't encourage her_ — to which he completely ignored with a wide smile on his face, continuing on, his bare fingers crossed together and he topped his chin on top of it. "But you must know that even though the world had depended completely on technology — and don't we all? — most of the older people in our society are too comfortable in their luxurious, traditional way to change it. Though certainly, some of them has started using the means of social networking."

Anna, who looked aggrieved a second ago, now only sighed with complete clarity, her chin on the base of her palm, a dreamy expression blanketed her face while she stared up at the handsome red-headed man, and Elsa nearly chocked, a question bound at the back of her mind — could someone really fall as easily with just pretty accents, deep intonation and good looks? "How are you even real?" Anna whispered out, blushing prettily.

"Anna." Elsa voiced out firmly, her eyes catching with her sister's own sky blue eyes, and embarrassment caught in the webs of her nerves. Anna should behave, shouldn't she? In the presence of a well-known young man in the society of the elites, shouldn't they all? Though Hans didn't possess the appropriate behaviour of a respectable, young gentleman he should have ― he was _still_ one, wasn't he? With moves elegant as such, and words drawled with the richest uses of vocabularies, and steps taken as though the world was his to own: it would be a fool for anyone to suggest otherwise.

After all, Southern Isles weren't _just_ any places.

"_Fine_. Gosh." Anna rolled her eyes backwards, playfully, the heat of the afternoon sun leaving fiery trails in between her freckles, and deepened her blush. On her lips, danced a teasing smirk, but Elsa knew she was holding it back. "I get it. Sister's boyfriend. Drawing the limit."

"He's not― He isn't―" Elsa swallowed, stuttering. "Hans' isn't my boyfriend."

Besides from her, Hans chuckled ― a low, deep type of chuckle that sent something sharp shooting straight to her core and twisted nastily on her already-jumbled-up nerves ― his breath hitting softly against the skin where her cheeks met her jaw. "I'm not?" He asked, teasingly, and through narrowed-eyed view, she spotted how his eyes dropped momentarily to her lips ― before he presented his infamous smirk.

Bastard.

"You're not." Elsa met her eyes daringly, then meeting it back to the card invitations, fighting the anxiety of having someone outside of her family ― _especially him_ ― sitting extremely close to her. Though she couldn't say she was anymore surprised. In fact, if anything, she should be expecting this sort of bold action from him. It was as though he _enjoyed_ watching her spluttering out mistakes, and sweating down faults. "Now, could we just―" Elsa turned to a random, enormous card on the table, flipping it through, "― can we focus on this? _Please?_"

She could imagine the grin he must had when he tilted his attention back to Anna, his emerald eyes glinting under the sun. "If you say so, lovely."

She snapped at him, clicking her tongue.

He gave her an amused smile, lifting one eyebrow. "Problem?"

_He's enjoying this, isn't he?_ She thought, her eyes furrowing dangerously up at him. How did her day wound up like this ― having him, Anna, Rapunzel and her outside of the garden, on one of the picnic table, _looking at invitation cards?_ Did he just sprang out of nowhere, practically invited himself in, swooned everyone in the manor and decided it was okay? _Wait_ ― of course he did. Why wouldn't he?

"These invitation cards," she chose her words. "Why would I need this?"

"As I've said before," he answered with a certain ease that Elsa doubted anybody could copy ― the touch of silliness left as he moved his hand, his muscles ripped under her eyelashes, behind his expensive shirt as he reached for a card a few metres away out of his reach, smiling gently at Rapunzel when the one he wanted was in her grip, and the blonde beamed back innocently, giving up the card to him. Satisfaction coloured his features, "You'll need preferences when _your_ coronation came up."

"Coronation?"

"Coming-of-age celebration, I meant."

"A _birthday _party?"

"I'd recommend if you'd start phrasing it with the correct term please," he hummed, looking at the cards calculatingly.

She frowned at him. Wasn't it just the other day when he used the _birthday party_ term as he pleased? _Hypocrite_. Elsa huffed, felt her bile thickened at the back of her throat, and returned her gaze back at the surface of the table, her fingers brushed against the hem of her dress. "Is this honestly necessary?"

"Well," he shrugged, "How would you send your invitations then?"

"But it's expensive, is it not?" Elsa picked up one of the cards, cringing at the texture it presented, and the colour covering the covers. Yes, all of the invitation cards before her eyes were big and grand ― but none came close to _her_ style of choosing. This wasn't what she wanted when she gave her invitation cards out, if she had to; it was as though she'd gave something that'll hint a glimpse of who she was, and none of the choices on the table fit her profile. "Surely there's some other means to invite people?"

"Are you honestly worried about money?" retorted him, deadpanned.

"I, well―" Elsa clammed her mouth shut, frowning even more so at him.

Anna began to go through the cards again, matching a type of disgust look Elsa must have wore a second ago. "The designs kind of... _sucks_, doesn't it?" She pondered, then realising Hans' sharp eyes landed on her, jumped, just slightly, "I mean― they're _pretty_ and they're _not bad_, but... come on, Hans. Elsa could do with a _lot_ better looking card rather than just plastering out meaningful quotes from _Mahatma Gandhi_ like it actually has anything to do with celebrating your twenty-first birthday."

This time, it was Hans' turned to frown ― and Elsa gradually let out an air of relief at Anna's bluntness. It was rare times like this her young sister's tendency to blurt out without thinking actually benefits on her part. She gave the strawberry-blonde a quite smile, a form of her gratefulness reflected on Anna's small nod of the head, smiling widely.

Hans dropped a card. "So, you don't like this? _Any_ of it?"

"I didn't―"

"Be honest, Elsa." He cuts him off, sharp like the knife.

"I―" She looked back at the cards, and back to him, guilt caught on train of thoughts. "They're _beautiful_, but..." She trailed off, avoiding his tensed gaze from twisting even more of her nerves.

"But _what_?" He bit out, and she pretended her shoulders didn't shake, just for a little bit.

Elsa clammed her mouth shut, opened it and forced out ― it angered her, somehow, to think that he'd have the mindset that she was a pathetic little thing with a speech disability, even though in a way, she was: "Anna's right. I... I don't like the designs." She caught his eyes and dared herself to continue, "They're awful, their colours didn't match, and it was as though fashioned just to present how rich these individuals are, which, I guess, it is. But― I'm, I'm more than that, aren't I? More than just money and perfect dress and pretty face? Can't I show _that_ too?"

Because she was, wasn't she? More than just a pretty face?

Hans stared carefully at her, and there's an expression he wore that she didn't know the meaning behind until he emitted a sound which sounded similar to a hum and blew a huff of air from his nostrils. "Alright." He said with a touch of confirmation, as though he understood everything perfectly. "I understand. Different design?"

"Simpler." She fearlessly interrupted, "Elegant."

"Blue?"

"How about black blue?" Quipped Rapunzel suddenly, beaming as she knew she caught all of their attention. "And the fonts can be in gold. We can just have simple designs at the side ― floral-oriented, perhaps, or whatever you prefer." She glanced at her Elsa, a hint of adoration swam through her bright eyes; her interest brightened the shadows under her cheeks, and Elsa thought she'd never looked so dreamful.

"That's right," Hans pondered, his emerald eyes taking in the blonde, as though he's finally seen her in a new light. "You're an artist."

"I am," answered Rapunzel proudly, smiling more.

"How about this, then― Rapunzel here can design the cards instead. I'll call a man for you, and he can show you further into what type of card there are and you could do it custom-made. Once you've got the card ready, well the rest is easier. How about that? What do you think, Rapunzel? You're up for the job?"

Excitement flooded through the blonde's features. "A― are― are you serious?"

"I am if you are." Hans grinned back, his eyes glinting.

"Okay, this is great and all, and I hate to be the party pooper but― why the hurry? Elsa's birthday is still, like, _months_ away." Anna voiced out, confused.

"Which made it even greater when we'll have this all ready in advance." He responded, his face kind as he faced the strawberry-blonde and Elsa wondered momentarily if he was like this with every girl; every word he said was accepted like they were money made out of gold and those acceptance shone as bright as the sun over their head, glaring. "After all, you're _only_ turning twenty-one once."

Somehow, that final sentence rung louder than it should.

And it didn't seem to stop.

* * *

><p>"Ask me something personal."<p>

He said, out of the blue, while they were standing underneath a large tree with their huge branches sticking out ― it funnily reminded her of the tree in _Forrest Gump_, when Forrest was with Jenny ― and he's wearing a smile on his lips, and they've been walking out here, in the Southern Isles, for what? An hour? _Two?_ Perhaps just seconds? She couldn't place.

All that she knew was that it was no longer afternoon, and she could still remember the way his hand snatched her wrist as he dragged her away from Corona Manor, leaving all of the cards on the table ― those petty things seemed forever away ― with a wink stored towards Anna, and a soft "thank you" murmured to Rapunzel and then they were off. Just like that.

And now they were here.

He said, "I thought you said you like the Southern Isles." when he drove them here, brought her to the backyard and once again, presented to her of the ever so green large estate known as the _Southern Isles_. It really was a mesmerising experience whenever she came here ― the yard stretching out forever, the trees tall and short and everything in between. It was everything Summer would have been like, if one to describe it along with the word of gracefulness and luxury.

She tilted her head up to him, meeting his eyes and later on squinting immediately as soon as the sun filtered through the leaves behind him and blinded her vision. Getting over it soon, she took note of the way his mouth quirked by the corner and how his whole face somewhat softened. She regarded it as the sun was still in her eyes. "Personal?"

He nodded, "Yes. Anything. Ask me."

She wondered if he was drunk, and raised one curious eyebrow up to him. "Tell me about your family."

He laughed with a little snort inserted at the end and dropped his gaze at her. His hands caught the back of her arms and she stumbled slightly on her feet when he seemed like he was pulling her closer, only to realise he's only pulling her away so the sun won't bother her as it did. She didn't know how to feel about this. He smirked, "My family's a joke."

"A joke?"

"My brothers are a bunch of fools, bad-tempered neanderthals with a soul purpose of finding every possible faults existed in one another. My mother is... well, she's my mother. There's nothing more honestly I could comment about her."

"You don't like her?" She frowned.

"She's _annoying_."

"But she's your _mother_." Elsa insisted, almost whispering it out.

"Unfortunately," he leered his stare away at the bark of the trees, his hands went behind to a big branch behind him, leaning his waist against it ― his steps were careful, but they also seemed like they were _dancing_. Like it was all in the routine, in the choreography only he knew the music to. He finally let his eyes fell back to her. "She's also a woman. Thus, it is valid for me to point out her flaws as she has them, quite a lot really. But you're right ― deny as I may, she _is_ my mother."

"And what about that?" She asked, slowly fluttering her eyes up to him. "What do you think about _that_ fact?"

"The fact she's my mother?" He asked in return, raising one eyebrow before he exhaled, and paused, thinking. "I can't do anything to change it. All of... the mistakes I wish she'd never done, will always be there. And I guess, I've accepted it. I _have_ to."

Elsa never know he could be hearing such a thing from his mouth, though the insults should be expected. But it was the way he _said_ it, the way his eyes weren't exactly train on her face when the words were tumbling through his lips ― it squeezed her heart in a manner Elsa didn't expect. _Could his childhood be really that troubled as he made it sound to be?_

"What about... what about your father?" She decided to ask, licking her dry lips.

Hans let out a quiet chuckle, and smiled. And Elsa was nearly shocked at how genuine was the act of his lips were. It wasn't always seeing him like this ― leering, grinning, smirking? Sure, most of the times actually ― but _smiling?_ Just, merely smiling?

Elsa couldn't help but to imitate the action.

"My father was perhaps the only man I could tolerate in the whole house when I was growing up." He grinned, and his eyes looked far-away, like he was recalling a fond memory, and he didn't hate it. "He was patient, insightful and passionate. He was everything a man should be. He's respectable, professional and... and... he never left me out." He paused, like he was thinking over this, his smile slightly faltering. "As a matter of fact, he _never_ made any of my brothers felt left out. He always included everyone, or tried to, at least. He's... he was great to me."

"He was your idol," she breathed.

"He was more than that. More importantly..." Hans paused again, his stare landed on the roots of the trees, sticking out from the ground, right under their feet. Elsa watched him. "He was a father to me."

"He was good?"

"The best." He grinned down at her, finally meeting back the blue orbs of her eyes. "He favoured highly of your father, you know?"

She nodded, and for the first time, she didn't feel her stomach churning at the mention of her parent. "You told me."

"I did, didn't I?" He smiled more, and Elsa was tempted to reach out and touch the skin between his cheek and his jaw, the part closest to his lips, where the hair of his sideburns lied. _Just touch him_. He looked so innocent right now, she thought, like the world hadn't tainted him or the shadows decided to leave him, even if it was for a while.

"What's your father's name, Hans?"

"It's Lambert. Sir Lambert Andersen."

And they left there ― that wonderful name ― hanging in the atmosphere, and it thudded in her skull like a song stuck on repeat, but it was a good melody, because when he said it, he said it with a tone of appreciation so high, sky looked little in comparison. But this moment, or whatever they were having, was gone, just like it always was; his hand fell from behind her arms and he moved. "Come on," he prodded, "There's more place to see. I should probably show you where Benno fell when I was eight at our garden. He was _so_ infuriated at me for laughing at him, he convinced my other two brothers to pretend I didn't exist for two years."

Elsa frowned, catching up to his side, mouth open. "They did?"

"It was easier done with the three of them barely at home. My mother put a stop into this though. It wasn't like it's the first time they've pulled something like this. If the stories still stood correctly, I believe Fabian did the exact same thing when Benno was an eight-year-old himself ― and it was _just_ because he stole the last chicken on the dinner table. Honestly, as I've said, _neanderthals_."

Elsa didn't respond, and caught his offered hands when they climbed up a small hill.

"You're lucky you have Anna." He murmured, when he let her go.

"Yeah," she whispered back and didn't mention how technically, she ignored Anna's existence for _thirteen_ years instead of two years. She also decided that it wasn't his fault when her stomach flipped dangerously as he pointed her supposed luck out ― suggesting that her situation was any better ― because besides from the accusation, he was speaking the truth. She _was_ lucky to have Anna.

But Elsa clammed her mouth shut and moved on; her hands tingled where he'd touched, but she didn't say.

* * *

><p><strong>Musical Inspiration<strong>: "_Skinny Love_" by Birdy, and "_broken mirrors_", a playlist by [tumblr user] aggins.  
><strong>Author's Note<strong>: 3,412 words. *Flails helplessly* Kind of like a filler chapter, 'cause I want one. haha. Honestly though, most of the time, I feel like I don't know what I'm doing but I know _I'm in far too deep people_. I mean ― HAVE YOU SEE HANS/ELSA? They're like, they're so cute and messed-up and confused and awkward and torn between what's right and what's wrong, and I don't know. Like I said: _far in too deep_.

In any case, I've calculated and estimated the up-coming plots for this story and I think this will be one heck of a monster fic. Like, I might even be reaching more than 10 chapters, and I'm certainly having doubts about that (because like, seriously, I have the _biggest_ commitment issue ever― even if it's like, _ten_ chapters, okay) but I've decided to stick this fic 'till the end. I know some of the authors get _so_ discourage by the growing lack of reviews and attentions to their fictions (and ummm i might be one of them?) but I'm willing to finish this as long as there's still _someone_ out there who's willing to give this good-for-nothing fic some of their time.

With this, I am officially saying that, if nothing wrong went my way, I _will_ finish this fiction. For you guys, for myself and for my babies (my cuties Hans and Elsa). I just love everyone who's involved in this. Thank you.

**PS**: Hans secretly likes it when Anna flirts up with him ― it encourages his ego. Jerk.


	6. VI

"La plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas."

(_"The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist."_)"  
>― Charles Baudelaire, <em>Paris Spleen<em>

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><p><strong>VI<strong>

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><p>It was not like in the movie, she realised.<p>

When he came over and curled his lips and dragged his tongue between his teeth, it felt as though she was stabbed, _sliced_ ― sharp edges of a broken mirror against her skin ― and his breath was hot on her jaw, his thumb tracing the lines and leaving flame-like trails on her neck, _burning_ her flesh; but she was cold all suddenly. This was all too cold.

This wasn't Hans.

He smirked when she flinched, his emerald eyes glinted in dark mirth at the way her lips trembled. She did not leave his eyes. She did not succumb.

"Hans."

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And he asked, "Do you _really_ wanna know about Aurora?"

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It was almost ten.

And he'd informed her that the fund-raising event will began at eleven. "It's nothing nearly marvellous as the social events we attended the other night, but it's an event nonetheless." She remembered him telling, the sun was on her back, and his was against a the rickety wall of his brother's workshop in the Southern Isles, when he brought her again a couple of days ago. The evening sun was filtering through the leaves from the tree that went around the workshop, illuminating perfectly on the pink hues over his cheekbones, highlighting his dull freckles. "We're just there for support while they launch it. Nothing too obligatory for us to do except clap our hands and pestered a smile. Surely even _you_ could manage that."

The way he said it urged her to roll her eyes ― _rude_ ― but Elsa knew better and only nodded. There were just _some_ things with Hans she didn't need to argue about. His intonation and use of words weren't one of them. At least, not that day.

So, it was almost ten.

And Elsa had been standing at the large living room, going through a few young frames that she never had a chance to observe before with careful eyes and gentle opinion. She didn't know which brother was which, but she identified the mild resemblance between them almost immediately. It seemed as though only three Andersens harboured brown hair, one was dark blond while the others stuck with the recognisable red-headed trademark. It was sad to think that this once large Manor contained thirteen brothers and must be filled with noises and boyish screams all of the time ― but now the only sound Elsa could hear was the sound of a staff murmuring something in the background, going about with their work, and the ticking hanging clock, served to display the time.

Elsa glanced around.

Three minutes have passed since the last time she looked at the clock. Hans was still nowhere in sight. She frowned ― wasn't he was the one who told her that "while fashionably late is acceptable at times, it should not be practised as a habit. It will only give out the impression you are incompetence and lack punctuality, which only would not effect your own reputation, but the business you stood for as well, if you have any. In this case, which you _will_ have, so I don't recommend such."? She still could recall the little smirk he gave when he ended that sentence, as though he was _mocking_ her for even _considering_ to ask such a question.

It's amazing, if not highly frustrating, of how easily it was for him to get on her nerves.

Elsa decided that there was no point of fuming over his personality considering she should have known it by now to just pretence ignorance towards all of his little irritating quirks: the way he would do things as he wish, say whatever fleets his mind and judge without hesitation lingering by. In fact, the only moment she saw him shed some of that nasty character of his was when he mentioned of―

"My father." A voice jolted her from her trance, forcing her to spin around, only to be faced with a handsome Hans, red hair slicked back in the typical fashion, dressed in a simple blazer and a vest underneath, standing with a rigid posture by the living room's large arc door. "The one you're staring at."

His statement finally sunk in and Elsa nodded, returning her attention to the frame she had _indeed_ been staring at. "I gathered much so."

"You doubted?" He finally stepped forward, and she knew full well he was making his way towards her.

She gnaws a little on her bottom lips, admittedly nodding. "You have a brother who bear most of his features. It was hard for me to place the difference, but this photograph looks older. So."

"You made your conclusion." He concluded, now standing very close to her. The heat from his abrupt presence sent the skin on her arms to prickle, but she reasoned that now he was here, it was clear that she, once again, had to face a crowd, and meet the friend she never wanted to have in the first place: anxiety. "You are correct," he said again, with a clip. "Bill, my first brother, is a spitting image of dad unfortunately― though funnily, he's had the most problem with the old man. They were always... _arguing_. It was maddening."

"Are you..." She fluttered her lashes up at him, furrowing her brows. "Is Bill― your father―I mean, are they― _were_ they okay?"

Hans didn't answer immediately, his eyes stared hard at his father's proud picture ― his brown eyes seemed faded on the paper, but his smile shone through, even after all these years ― and Elsa watched how Hans' shoulders dropped, after he inhaled sharply. "When dad died, he left everything to Bill. But being a stubborn prick he is, he refused it. So, through many documents, my second brother finally inherited the family business, now co-owned with Klaus, my fourth brother. Bill started to build his own business, and after the years worn by, Grandmother passed away, he finally decided to put his business under our family's name, widening our already large empire."

"So..." Elsa chewed on her inner cheeks, pondering. "Everything's―"

"_Fine_. As it should be. Bill didn't like dad, but he respected him and that was all we could ask out of him, honestly. His temper was as thin as the lashes on his eyes ― _little to none_. He's the least tolerable brother I've had the unfortunate of having, well, besides from Danelius, but since he's met his wife and have children, he's quite alright."

"Danelius?"

"My second brother. If you haven't notice it yet, mother's not around. She has flown out to help Danelius with his two years old daughters, the twins, since Astoria, that's his wife, had matters to attend to. Mother knew you were coming though. She sends her regards, and asked if you wanted to stay for dinner sometimes, after she returns."

"That..." Elsa blinked, "That would be lovely."

Hans snorted. "Honestly? You've _met_ my mother, haven't you?"

Elsa frowned. "Hans."

"_What?_ She's― she's anything but lovely. Eccentric, full of herself, conceited, arrogant, ignorant―"

"Y-you're just describing yourself!" Elsa managed out, gesturing towards him.

"Hah." He responded, deadpanned, dragging his eyes elsewhere. "At least _I'm_ decent-looking."

_Of course_, was her first thought. Of course that was the first respond he would care to point out. Elsa hugged her body, just a little ― suddenly her full skirt dress which she thought fitted her for the event looked horrendous. "Just because... _you_ don't like your mother, doesn't mean _I_ shouldn't. I'm not you, Hans. And you― you can't _force_ your opinion on me."

He stared at her sharply, as though his emerald orbs could cut through her skull and rearrange her firm statement. But this time she refused to give in. It was one of the things she won't let Hans changed about her ― what she thought. She believed on exchanging opinions, and debating over it. But not forcing someone else's belief on you. Everybody was titled to whatever they thought was right, it shouldn't mean that everybody else should agree to it. So, Elsa stared back. Her hands shook, but she clasped it quickly and hid it from his view. After long last, he finally huffed, a quick hum passed over the back of his throat before: "You're right. I'm sorry. Your answer is your answer, not mine. I should have known better."

_Okay_.

Elsa swallowed, and decided to change the subject. "Sh-should we go now? It's already 10:15."

"Ah, yes. And we still have that _horrible_ traffic to go through. Stupid!" He bantered out, mostly to himself and Elsa watched. She realised he did this occasionally, scolding himself for things that could have appeared a little too petty for other people. "I should have planned ahead. And now if we're late... who knows what Mrs. Worthington might have to say."

_That's_ an exaggeration. "Surely she won't mind," she murmured, blinking up at him.

"I wish she won't." He answered back, now stomping himself towards the exit. "Coming?"

"Yeah." She nodded, gathered herself for a second and caught up to him. He waited by the arc entrance at the living room, his face suddenly softened when she came up to him, a hint of what-must-be a smile hovered over his lips. She quirked her brows together, "What?"

"You look exquisite." He commented. "It's a shame you decided to put your hair in a bun. I adore it when you merely have it in braid."

Her tongue clicked, annoyed. "Does it matter?"

"It doesn't?" He asked in return, mock dripped heavily in his tone before he flashed her his infamous smirk, straightened his blazer with a final tug and walked away ― his steps are a token of confidence (or ego) building up for him, and she restrained herself from rolling her eyes _that_ obviously. Instead, she sighed, decided to let the comment rolled off her shoulder (well, she _tried_) and fell into his easy steps.

* * *

><p>"The eldest of Arendelle, I presume."<p>

Naturally, Elsa turned herself towards the voice, her ears perked up at her own familiar surname, but she couldn't help to deduce that for the briefest second of how _eerie_ that voice was ― how suspiciously sinister it sounded ― but she ignored it when she was faced by an older man; tall, skinny, moustached and a smile ghosted over his lips. There was a gap between his front teeth and his tongue curled when he bowed his head slight, "I'm Arman Facilier. _Dr._ Arman Facilier. I can't help but notice you are alone. Pity."

"Doctor." Elsa let the formal title settled over her lips, a small albeit forced smile graced her pale face, as the repeated words of dull encouragement became like an annoying buzz on a morning where someone would have had too much to drink the night before. _You can do it_, the inner voice said. Just a conversation ― _don't stutter, don't hesitate. Relax_. Can she, though? Can she truly "relax"?

"Name, dear?"

Elsa swallowed. "It's, um― it's Elsa. Elsa Arendelle."

"I knew I wasn't wrong!" Chuckled the older man, snapping his finger and came a throaty laugh escaping through his chapped lips, before he ran his fingers over his thin moustache, his own laughter died on the tips of his tongue, his purple eyes glanced over to her. Elsa managed her own smile ― _don't falter, don't waver, you'll be okay_ ― "You're a beauty, Elsa." Dr. Facilier noted, wielding his cane and tapping his fingernail against the purple globe on top of the cane. "Has anyone ever told you that lately?"

Anyone?

What do you mean?

"I―" She hesitated, blinked, closed her mouth and opened it again. _Dammit_. She could almost hear a snarl at the back of her mind that sounded an awful lot like Hans, hissing: _fucking anxiety_. She gripped her purse, felt the fabric under her thumb and wondered back to Anna's laughter at breakfast this morning, and Rapunzel's shared thoughts on the recent literature she borrowed from her, and Uncle Thomas' great news to start working out again ― Aunt Primrose's eye-roll and quiet chuckle barely left her memory train, and Elsa gripped onto that. _Calm_.

Where was Hans?

"Dearest Elsa, you look pale." Dr. Facilier continued, frowning. "Take a seat. I insist."

"Oh, t-that's okay. I'm fine." She managed out, declining profusely, this time a genuine smile passed over her lips. She needed to _convince_ herself that she was fine. She was, wasn't she? And Hans didn't abandon her this time. He went away to get them a drink. If he did, then she could survive. She'd pushed herself over those years to ignore her only sister ― surely a few conversations and words being exchanged won't hurt her. Plus, she _had_ to do this. This was why she was here: communicate.

_Expand, expand, expand_. That was what Hans told her over the car ride here, when he was "lecturing" her over self-confidence. _Force yourself to do more than what your brain think is capable, than what you think you're capable. Keep growing, keep on going. Never stop. Don't stop. Can't stop. Tell yourself you won't stop. Because you can, therefore you will_. She could still remember how white his knuckles have gotten when he's gripping the steering wheel, and she could have sworn there was a tinge of madness dancing across his features― she didn't ask questions then. But it sort of made sense now.

Expand, expand, expand.

"Do― do you enjoy the party, Dr. Facilier?" Elsa managed, searching the older man's peculiar purple eyes.

He grinned, once again displaying the row of his white teeth, the gap between the front one was clearer this time. But the man had its appeal. He was tall, with high cheekbones and a posture of a man who owned just the right amount of money to entertain a folk. Dr. Facilier chuckled again, deep in tone. "Why, if I _must_ comment, the French food they served is oddly distasteful though I can't place what went wrong. Perhaps they lack something, or they put in too much― I have a little French blood in me, you see. A little royal too, though my mama never had the chance to explain from where. Crazy old woman, she was."

Elsa smiled at that since Dr. Facilier chortled fondly at the mention of his mother, and Elsa assumed he must have had a decent relationship with the older woman to call him so informally, in a teasing manner. _Unlike someone she knew_. "You grew up in France then, Doctor?"

"I spent a portion of my childhood there, yes. Though to me every street's just the same. I wasn't _born_ rich, you see. I mean, my family and I survived through with enough money, but nothing too fancy, too luxurious. So, there's a lot of times I found myself travelling down the roads, learning a few tricks, making some _new_ _friends_." He paused, played with the wine glass in his hand. "How about you, Elsa? Have you ever been to France?"

"No. Unfortunately." Perhaps her parents have been there, she wasn't sure. But while she was growing up, there wasn't a lot of Europe they visited, though she yearned to visit Italy. "I would very much like to visit there someday. Perhaps. It'll be a great experience, I'm sure. Maybe I'll even take my sister."

Dr. Facilier's eyebrows hiked up in interest. "Sister? I knew you weren't a single heir."

"Yes." Elsa nodded, recalling back the strawberry blond. "She... she's eighteen. She just celebrated her birthday two months ago."

"Interesting." Dr. Facilier clicked his tongue, leaning in. "And how about you, Elsa? Is _your_ birthday coming soon?"

"I, um―"

"Arman! Hey!"

Elsa dragged her attention to the new voice, recognising the thick raven strands of hair quickly as he moved over, clad in a grey suit, though there wasn't a tie in sight. But then again, he looked better _without_ a tie. Eric. Gradually, a slow but firm footsteps followed behind, emerald eyes glaring, but pointedly over-looking his own cousin. Hans was glaring at the doctor.

What's _his_ problem?

"Eric." Dr. Facilier replied, a sour smile taking over his facial expression, and if Elsa wasn't wrong, she could nearly identified the disappointment drooping in his tone. "I thought you wouldn't recognise me."

"Without your crocodile teeth necklace? Oh man, you're like a complete different person." Eric grinned, the dimples on his cheek deepened and Elsa passed a look towards Hans, who came closer, two drinks in his hand, his eyes glancing elsewhere. She didn't realise Eric when they came through the entrance ― perhaps that was why it took Hans longer to take their drinks. He bumped into his cousin. Maybe.

"Elsa," Eric noted, finally, eyes welcoming. "You look... magnificent."

"Hans." Dr. Facilier greeted, his purple eyes judging.

Hans didn't even stare back; he passed a drink to Elsa casually, as though when the Doctor spoke, it passed right through his attention. But it didn't, when he finally took a sip, swirled the sparkling apple cider in his glass and nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Arman."

"Never thought you'd _smell_ me again?" Dr. Facilier smirked, though only then did Elsa noticed how more twisted it appeared rather than how Hans used to portray them. She swallowed.

"I thought you left the country." Hans countered back; his posture never breaks.

"I got bored." Dr. Facilier shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, sipping on his wine. "People do that, you know."

"I can _see_ that." Hans replied back, and there's a sharper edge to his respond this time. Through the cool facade Hans tried to pull, Elsa noticed his tensed shoulder and his locked jaw, the way the veins on his neck stood and his fist curled from inside of his pants' pocket.

"Arman." Eric interrupted, not before giving his cousin a strange look ― as though a silent signal of "_calm down_" ―and patted Dr. Facilier's chest, forcing the older man to cough up, just a little bit. "I'm sorry to interrupt this very, extremely lovely reunion but I do think your assistant has been searching for you. I've seen her walking around and she's just _so_ confused, poor, poor Maggie―"

"I understand." Dr. Facilier cuts off, and there's irritation brimming from the way he pointedly stared back at Eric, but the younger man didn't waver, instead he stared back with a widening grin on his face, like it's a personal entertainment to see someone in such a complete displeasured situation. Dr. Facilier turned back towards Elsa, a smile immediately came upon his lips. "My dear," he began and started to reach out for her hands until―

"You do not _touch_ her, Facilier. Not even a single strain of her hair." Hans ground out, stepping in front of Elsa coolly; his voice was low and calm when he voiced each of his words, but the threat in it was not calm. It dripped destruction in every corner, reeked of dangerous that it tickled every villains' funny bones. It displayed possessiveness in a way that demons would celebrate upon. Elsa pretended a shiver didn't run down her spine; she furrowed her brows. "If you as much as _dare_ try it, I'll fracture your skull and break every bone there is in your body. You will choke on your own pool of blood and drowned in your own intake of oxygen, because I _will_ put a hole through your lungs. I will make sure you won't stand, won't speak, won't see, won't even capable of fucking _thinking_ again if you ever ― _ever_ ― lie a finger on her. This is not a threat. This is a promise."

Dr. Facilier gazed harshly at Hans, refused to break eye-contact, but Elsa watched as Hans simply stared back, a cease existed in between his brows and an angry frown deepened on his lips. Gradually, Dr. Facilier smirked, retreated his hand back and nodded. "If you insist."

Eric quickly escorted the older man out of that room, giving him another look ― this time suggesting "_you need a drink ASAP_" ― before Elsa huffed, sprang herself next to him so she could face him. "W-what was that?" She chose to shriek, overwhelmed. "He― he wasn't doing anything wrong!"

"_Yet_." Hans dropped his chin, his emerald eyes landing and reflected against her blue ones. "Shadow Man isn't one you should play with, Elsa."

"Sh-shadow Man? Who―"

"Facilier. That's his other name." He cuts her off, his voice a hush. "I don't want you speaking with him, do you understand? He is sleazy, dangerous, sneaky―"

"You can't just _decide_ that for me―"

"It's for your own good―"

"_My_ good?" She barked out, laughing humourlessly. "We were just having an innocent conversation!"

"He's not who he say he is."

"You― _you're_ one to talk."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" He glared, hissing.

"I―" She didn't want to talk about this. At least, not here. She should have known better. And people were beginning to stare. Elsa inhaled sharply, her gaze didn't drop from his before she shook her head, taking a step back and started hugging herself. "You can't say that, Hans. You don't have a say on who I can or cannot have a conversation with."

"Not with him. Out of everyone, Elsa ― not fucking Facilier." He whispered the last part out, his nose scrunched up in anger.

She met his stare. "No. You don't have a say in this."

"Dammit, Elsa." He grunted, looked away briefly and cursed under his breath. "I don't _like_ it when you talked to him!"

"Well screw you, Hans." She bravely spat out, tilting her chin a degree up. "I can talk with whoever I want."

Hans breathed out heavily through his nostrils and his mouth fell open when his phone suddenly beeped alarmingly. He lifted a finger up ― _a_ _second_ ― and snatched the phone from his pocket. He typed in a reply furiously, jabbing his thumb against the screen with a certain pace and stared at the screen when, she assumed, he finally hit _send_. He was about to put it away when the phone beeped again, and she watched him frowned.

"What is it?" She hesitantly asked, looking from the phone back to his expression.

He hesitated too, before: "Nothing. Nothing important anyway." He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "I― I'll have to excuse myself. Just, just for a second. I'll be right back."

Must be some random girl wanted to "hook up" with him. Elsa resisted the urge from throwing up. She couldn't _believe_ him. "If― if isn't important, then why the hurry?"

Hans skidded his step, and swallowed. "Elsa."

_Whatever_. She decided, turning away. "Go."

"Elsa."

"I'll wait." Because wasn't that her job― _waiting on him?_

"I'll come back."

She didn't reply and heard him sighed; he turned on his heels and disappeared from the crowd.

* * *

><p>She found him sixteen minutes, 37 seconds later at a hidden corner around the Manor with Eric's arm against his throat, hissing out, "You can't do this to her, Hans. Not again. I won't let you."<p>

"Get― the _fuck_― off― of me!" Hans struggled, his knuckles meeting with Eric's ribs, causing the other man to cough out and grunted. Gradually, Eric's strength weakened when Hans managed to get himself out from under his grip, pushing the other man harshly.

Eric stumbled, and gritted his teeth. "She's not _Aurora_, Hans. You can't hurt her."

"I'm not fucking―" Hans racked his fingernails against his temple, a muffled sound hissed from between his teeth and he licked his lips, frustration reddening his whole face. "I _know_ she's not Aurora."

"Then, why are you doing this― you know what, it doesn't matter. Just tell her. She's a sweet girl, Hans. She deserves some truth."

"No. You don't understand. She's―" Hans ruffled the hair at the back of his head, cringing. "Aurora's― I _can't_."

"Well." Eric huffed out, breathing harshly. "If you won't, _I_ will."

"Fuck it, Eric! Just _shut up!_"

"H-Hans?" She voiced out, attracting both of the young men's attention. She chanced a calculating look towards Hans, not before sneaking a glance at a pretty-beaten up Eric, who seemed as though there will be a fresh bruise welling up one side of his jaw. "Tell me what?"

"Elsa." Hans breathed out, eyes wide. "What― why― what are you doing here?" He came forward, hands reaching out for her, but Elsa took a step back, shaking her head. She didn't understand this. What was happening?

"I― people were asking about you― I didn't― I heard noises, so I..." She gulped, looking around ― anywhere except the cut near his eyes, on top of his cheekbones. She controlled her breathing. "What's going on?"

"Elsa, this isn't―" Eric stepped forward until Hans held a hand out, stopping his cousin.

"It's― perhaps it's better if we leave. Would you mind that, Elsa?"

"Leave? Where?"

"Anywhere. We can get frozen yoghurt again. After all, there isn't much of an event next now that the launching has finished." He uttered, but it was rush, and improper, like he's just spewing anything that he could from the back of his mind. "We should leave, shouldn't we? I already saw some of the couple leaving."

"You can't just―" Eric was about to interrupt, until Hans cocked his brows at him over the shoulder.

"Can we?" Elsa asked, carefully.

"Sure. Come on." And just like that, he dragged her away.

* * *

><p>In her opinion, she should have seen it coming <em>way<em> before it happened. _Expected_ it, the very least.

So, maybe, when she's wounded where she has expected she would, she wouldn't feel like this, pondered over it, felt her heavy heart tempting her to stay, _run_, scream ― _something, something!_ ― and her head hurts, she thought. Her life's a little bit of a mess, like he's described it when they first met, and she wanted to laugh at the pathetic situation she's in. But all she could see was his back, turning against her, squared and unwelcome.

He didn't meet her eyes.

* * *

><p>Maybe if he hadn't decided that he would need a change, therefore forcing them to drive back to Southern Isles, things wouldn't have crumbled ― <em>burned into empty ashes<em> ― like it did. But he did. And she followed him. She followed him even though the question hung dangerously on the edge of her lips, twisting her nerves. She had feign her innocence long enough, thinking that perhaps if she _didn't_ _ask_, it wouldn't effect her. Thinking that maybe she'd take a leap of faith and trusted him _enough_ that somehow, she wasn't at all connected to anything sinister, anything dark of his past. She didn't _want_ to.

But was she?

She followed him. Her steps were careful and the silence felt like a slow, painful death. They didn't talk, at all, during their whole ride here. He was too consumed with his thoughts to ignite any easy conversation, to tease or ask her anything (like he always _try_ to do) while she tried to figure everything out ― but how could she, when a lot of the puzzle pieces were in his hiding, and he refused to show where it's hidden? It was a childish play. Almost.

She felt like a doll.

That wasn't fair. Ever since from the beginning, she knew, in some way, she was a doll to him. A project for a science fair to which she had no clue of. But in another way too, she thought she was not. Because while he mocked, he respected her. While he teased, he also agreed with her. While he asked, he was also learning something from her ― sometimes even _willingly_. Sometimes, she made pretence he was _genuinely_ interested, and when he commented, it wasn't to ridicule.

But she _was_ a doll, wasn't she? A piece in a bigger game.

And she thought: maybe if the invitation didn't come just when it did, things wouldn't have ended up that way. But it did. It was vivid how it played out ― two of the many Manor's staff came to him, one to take his blazer, the other giving him a letter. He stopped in his step, examined the exterior layer of the card before he opened it. It wasn't long after that that she made note of his tensed shoulders, his building rage spitting poems across his face, curving sentences of the anger stuck in his throat, rushed through his veins.

He tore the card with a rip which could tear the whole heaven, God forbid.

He screamed at the staff with a pointless fury and venom pouring throughout his speech. He stomped then, when the staff quickened and disappeared away, the letter left in two pieces on the floor; he didn't look back ― kept on going, one foot in front of the other ― and headed out to the stairs when she daringly came forward, hunched down and picked the card up.

It was a wedding invitation.

**Aurora & Philip**

It was just like the cards they went through the other day ― way too glorious, way too shiny for any average human eyes could take ― and there was a picture. Elsa stared at it: the face of a beautiful dark-blonde haired girl, cheeks pale but tainted with a wonderful shade of pink, and she was staring affectionately at, who Elsa assumed, her fiancé; all handsome, with dark brown eyes and a gentle smile. _Aurora. _The name thudded in a cursed echo and Elsa finally stood, her hands trembling all of a sudden.

"Hans." She called, cringing. "Who's Aurora?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The world paused when he stopped. Her chest churned in a manner she didn't know was capable, but all she heard was:

_expand, expand, expand_.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

_Because_, she thought, she knew where this was going. She would need that mantra, scalding across her flesh to keep herself from falling face-flat to gravity, to admit herself to the face of complete submission.

She thought: something cracked inside of her.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"No one," he growled, finally turning around and stalking up to her. "Give that to me―"

"No!" She finally bellowed ― angry and sad and betrayed and everything in between ― and _why won't he tell me?_ She kept the torn card tightly in between her grip, mustering out every ounce of courage when her structure broke ― because _she felt like she was breaking_ ― and inhaled shakily. "Who's Aurora, Hans? I'm not stupid. Just― _please_― tell me."

"She's a fucking ghost." He told, glowering.

"Tell me one more lie, and I swear to God, Hans, I'll―"

"_What?_ You'll electrocute the memory out of me? You're going to _cry?_" His voice boomed, and Elsa ignored how her body shook. _Like leaves_, an inner voice snarled and she swallowed. Again. "Give that to me, Elsa―"

"You're a fucking liar, Hans." There you go. Another curse. _Great_. "Why won't you tell me _anything_―"

"THERE'S NOTHING TO FUCKING TELL!" He yelled, finally, and swung a punch to the empty air. "Goddammit, Elsa! It's none of your fucking _business_."

"None of my― She's a sweet girl, Hans. She's not Aurora. You can't hurt her. She _deserves_ some truth." She spat back, her pulse picked up its pace and she could hear it ― the sound of her own downfall; it increased within each seconds passed.

"You..." Hans finally took the words in, mouth agape. "You heard."

"I _knew_." She responded. "Remember when Eric came to visit me? He already warned me about Aurora. He wanted me to ask you _why_ were you doing this, _why_ haven't you walked away ― _who's Aurora_. But I... I never..."

"You never ask."

"I thought I didn't _need_ to."

"You _don't_." He ground, his eyes darkened.

"I _do_." She shook her head, refusing to let him have his way this time around. "_Clearly_ I do. Why haven't you walked away, Hans? What do you get out of all of this ― for helping _me?_ Weren't I just some fragile, walking _China Doll?_ Aren't I?"

"Fuck it, Elsa. Fuck _you_. You're so―"

"_What? _I'm so _what?_"

"You don't understand!" He yelled back, "You _won't_ understand!"

"Enlighten me, please!"

"I'm _not_ having this conversation with you." He told, turned on his heel and spun around.

Elsa ignored how her body trembled; of how it worsened. "Who's Aurora?"

He kept on walking.

"Who's Aurora, Hans?"

Why won't he stop walking? Just _stop_.

"Hans."

The sole of his shoe thumped, and Elsa thought somewhere, far away, something shattered.

"Dammit, Han!" She finally yelled, the cord of her confidence toppled, the pattern of betrayal webbed on her thoughts and it _hurts_. It fucking hurts. He finally stopped. _Good_. She gritted her teeth; the card crumbled in her tightening grip. "Who _is_ she?"

Gradually, he turned around: and his lashes stood, his eyes squinted and his mouth pursed.

"You wanna know who she is? Who _Aurora_ is? Fine. I'll tell you." He said, his tone suddenly dropped into a low volume, brimming with a shaky sense of dangerousness, uncertainty, explosiveness (and _not_ the kind that would make Anna smiled all through the night) like a ticking nuclear bomb covered in a poison which could kill even in the slightest contact; he came _closer_. "She's just like _you_. All dainty and clueless and oh-so-very naïve."

Elsa took a step behind.

"So very beautiful, with her little smile and hopeful dreams." He whispered, and Elsa shut her eyes when she found herself unable to move. She was pinned to where she was, and his breath hits the side of her face. She could _sense_ his smirk growing. "It was sickening."

_Just stop_.

Why won't he stop?

She dared herself to open her eyes when she felt his hand hovered over her skin; he pressed his nails against the back of her right arm, and then slowly, _painfully_, trailed it to her shoulder blades, putting an extra pressure when he touched on the spot where her bone must lie. She shivered.

"Do you want to know how we met?" He asked, sharp and clear. She didn't answer.

He chuckled. "That's correct. Through my _mother_. She was the one who set us up. Ring a bell? Of course it does, because that's exactly what happened between us. We met through _my mother._" He licked his lips, his eyes suddenly dropping to her lips. "Do you wanna know what _other_ things you two shared in common?" He smirked, though this time Elsa couldn't find even the slightest hint of humour and that's worse. _So much worse_; Elsa clenched her fist (the card crumbled even more). "Both of you have kissed my lips, both of you have been showered with gowns and shoes under my expense, and both of you have been my dates on more than one occasion to a social event."

He finally straightened his posture, just a little, but his stance suggested that he wasn't going to let her get away anytime soon.

He smirked.

And a firm realisation finally dawned over Elsa: it was not like in the movie. She was sure if this was a movie, it would have hurt a lot less. And the tears that's threatening to fall by the corner of her eyes won't sting as much. And her hands and knees won't feel like fluid _at all_. He met her stare, and she knew. She _knew_.

This was not Hans.

And he asked, "Do you _really_ wanna know about Aurora?" He chuckled, his lips brushing her jaw. "The most. Important. Detail."

Elsa closed her eyes.

"Both of you were going to be _filthy_ rich."

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"Hans."

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Elsa wanted to _collapse_.

_Eric_.

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"Elsa." Eric came, his shoes loud when he ran over and Elsa held her whimper. "Hans."

The other man didn't answer.

"Elsa, are you okay?" Eric hushed, snatching her away from the youngest of Andersen, his fingers enveloping both of her elbows. "God. I _knew_ this was a bad idea. Why did I ever― dammit― Hans? What the _hell?_"

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"Take her home. Make sure she's safe. Send Mr. and Mrs. Corona my apologies."

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"What about _her?_"

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"_Priorities_." He hissed, "Just make sure she's safe."

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And then, she realised: he won't _ever_ meet her eyes.

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_Expand, expand, expand_.

(Because when you're finally shattered and broken ― you'll make an even messier of a mess.)

* * *

><p><strong>Musical Inspiration<strong>: "_I Need My Girl_" by The National.  
><strong>Author's Note<strong>: 6,317 words. Okay. Let's not even _get_ into how many times I've changed the format (therefore forcing me to write the entire thing all over again) because it is freaking nightmare in a nutshell. But let's just hope this chapter satisfy you awesome readers. And _guys_― Eric's back into the fic. I've been eager to write him again, because he actually _plays_ a pretty significant role in this whole story and I just like guys with dimples okay. He has that. So yeah. Whatever. (Don't judge.)

And I've inserted Dr. Facilier a.k.a Shadow Man from _Princess and The Frog_. Oh yeah. He's a messed-up dude, a'right. And _gosh_ you guys, we're finally unfolding Aurora's story. I wonder what y'all think of _what really happened_ between Hans and Aurora. I miss reading over your speculations, honestly. But seriously though, you guys are an awesome bunch of readers. I won't be here if not for your support. Thank you.

**PS**: I just watched BBC Sherlock okay, which was why Possessive!Hans happened [the line where Hans threatened Facilier if he even as much _try_ to touch Elsa, which, personally, I think is kind of hot]. I really don't know.

**Edited**: 03/27/2014, 4:49PM.


	7. VII

_**"I**_t was a mistake," you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.  
>― David Levithan, <em>The Lover's Dictionary<em>

* * *

><p><strong>VII<strong>

* * *

><p>The car ride back to Corona Manor was filled with silence.<p>

Well, as close to silence as it could be, she guessed. Elsa expected this. As soon as Eric buckled her up at the passenger's seat and they left the Southern Isles' perimeter, Elsa thought: there was just _something_ about leaving the ground this time ― it was the sight of the Southern Isles' proud insignia wishing her farewell, it was the scene when the Manor began to look smaller as they drove away ― and she knew, quite well, that it was only because this was perhaps going to be the last time she'll be here.

No.

This was the last time she'll be seeing _him_.

And it _hurts_. It hurts because his last direct words to her was that "she was going to be _filthy_ rich", and that he'd touched her, he had seen her, stood in front of her at that playground when she poured everything she could about her past, he'd walked besides her and told him about the tiniest of marks on a tree made by one of his brothers, that he'd come _so_ close to her ― _so close_ ― until she sculptured her belief that if it was anything at all by the end of the day, was that she could trust him, for the most part. She'd even like to fool herself that Hans was the closest thing, outside her family, that she counted as "friend". Not that the word meant anything to the man himself.

But maybe no. Maybe, what hurts the most was that she had always _known_ she was not a "friend". A live prop apart of an experiment he's constructing, and she's merely playing a bigger role than some― it's particularly painful because now she was _confirmed_ of that part, and _not_ in the gentlest of ways.

So Elsa turned her body and felt her shoulders shook and her teeth chattered when her tears struck down and dampened her cheeks. It was _so_ sad to think that such thing as anger of betrayal was quickly translated into something which appeared pathetic: in the form of tears. Because yes, she was _mad_. She was _furious_ because she led herself believe that she was perhaps more than just a piece in his little game when she _knew better_. She should have known better.

God, she was stupid!

It wasn't until approximately ten minutes later that her sobs began to lessen down, but Elsa still felt like something was tugging harshly on her heartstrings, cut somewhere down the middle of her chest and poured an acid which left a burning sensation throughout her body, mainly focusing on where her heart lied. She hiccuped. Eric cleared his throat.

"Elsa, are you―"

"No," she whimpered out, her whole body sunk to the passenger's seat and she swore she heard his breath hitched.

Eric held his breath for a few milliseconds longer, then shuddered it out through his nostrils, exchanging his grip on the steering wheel and Elsa could feel his stare landed on her again. She turned away, just for good measure. He sighed. "Look, Elsa, if you―"

"Tell me about Aurora." She felt her bile thickened, but determined to finally get this over with. At least when she fell asleep tonight, her whole mind would be lightened by the single thread of fact that she knew about this woman, whoever she was, and how exactly it connected to Hans being the way he was, or to her. "Who _is_ she? How is she have anything to do with... with you― with _him ― _with _me_?"

Eric opened his mouth, hesitation beats across his face, pursed his lips and opened them again. He passed a look towards her. "Hans didn't tell you?"

She shook her head slowly and refrained her mind from returning back to the horror which happened just a full ten minutes ago, when his breath was apparent to her, the tips of his finger trailed over collarbone, his lips touched her jaw. She shivered. Again. "Not specifically. He... He didn't. Not everything." She swallowed her thick bile, and pressed her trembling palm against her lips, as though it was the only way to keep a chock ― a sob ― from escaping. She dragged her blue eyes to catch his, and said: "I need to know everything."

Eric sighed, at the whole situation or her desperation she didn't know. She didn't _want_ to know. All that she desire now was for the truth.

"Okay," he finally drawled up, chancing a quick glance, passing his tongue over his drying lips. "Okay. I'll tell you." He swallowed, and somehow Elsa could almost imagined herself in his situation: caught between being loyal to a cousin, and doing what's supposed to be done. Eric looked uncertain, but it was also clear that he wasn't backing out. Not right now. "But... I mean... Hans―"

He paused, frustrated and inhaled. "When Hans and I were growing up, we weren't put into the best... _environment_. Hans especially, having to live up with thirteen different expectations, trying to accomplish everything his brothers had and more. He was... well, he was competitive. In the extreme sense. Especially... especially after his father's death. He just, he kind of _lost_ it, y'know? Like―" Eric gave a light shake of his head, "It even came down to... being... desperate. That's when Aurora came into the picture.

"She was... a nice enough girl. Her father owned a large empire, and it just happened that he was planning on retiring from being the CEO. Hans... he saw the opportunity. He was around twenty years old then, and he was already striking for... the impossible. He'd wanted the position, _craved_ for it that he'd constructed the whole plan of... courting her. So, for months, he played this role of a man deeply in love with a woman until he'd have the whole family convinced his love was strong enough that he'd considered eloping away if it means the 'promise of forever' with her. Nobody suspected a thing. I mean, sure, I was suspicious, because I know Hans. If it was one thing I'm sure of him is that he's reasonable. And it _wasn't_ reasonable for him to even think that marrying at such a young age, driven by, what― _love?_― was wise. He's ambitious, not stupid. But like I said: he had everyone fool.

"But then again, Hans had always been a little theatrically-inclined." Eric hummed at this, something in what he said easing the tension from his shoulders and he turned down the familiar lane to Corona Manor. Elsa realised he wasn't making any eye-contact, not that he couldn't because he was driving― but it was in the way he moved. He didn't _want_ to make eye-contact at all. He was focusing too hard on the road, his face almost turned away from her completely. "It went on for... almost a year. That was how long Hans kept his act up. That was how much he was willing to take, just so he could proof to his brothers that he wasn't a lost cause. That he's _worth_ something, not just another brother listed in the Southern Isles' large family tree. And he was so close to reaching his goal; he was 'madly in love' with Aurora, and her with him.

"But then―" Eric paused, stopping at a red light, the last one before they entered the Corona's private land. "When Hans proposed, she rejected him."

"She―" Elsa frowned, mouth agape. "She, _what?_"

"Aurora said no. And thank God she did, because if she hadn't... Well, who knew where she'd be right now. Caught as Hans' trophy wife? Used only as an object and wanted only when he needed her? She'd be _miserable_. And she was... she _is_ a cheerful girl. Soft. Gentle. Hopeful, too. Which was why when she said no to his proposal, she ended their whole relationship with him. Because she's smart too, and she's dreamt bigger of her future, and she knew somehow Hans didn't fit in her vision."

"What... what did Hans say?" Elsa asked meekly.

Eric snorted, passed her a quick look. His eyes shone with a hint of a humour, but there's mostly pity there. No, not pity. Concern. Worry. "Yeah... you could probably imagine what he'd say." He chortled miserably, pursing his lips then. "He just told her to go away, and he said that he didn't _ever_ want to see her, and Aurora went off thinking that he was just bitter she ended their relationship when he was proposing, having the thought that it was her fault because she had been leading him on, dragging their break-up until where they were. But Hans wasn't mad because of that. He couldn't give two shit. It was because Aurora also found someone else ― _Philip_, I think his name is ― and he lost. Again. Everything he worked for, every smiles he put on, every praises he faked. And for what? Just to have it crash and burn right before his eyes.

"That night, he went _so_ bad it took both Benno and Jasper to tackle him down. Their mother spent a night in the hospital, she went in shock and supposedly blacked out. It was bad. For months, none of Hans' twelve brothers knew what to do. I didn't, either. But he kept... an act still, you know. _Pretending_ that he was alright― I guess he just, he was used to it, you know? Pretending." Eric shuddered out. "When you think about it, Hans had been pretending 3/4 of his life. He was... he kept on going. He failed, he collapsed, he snapped, and then he was back at it again, _planning_. We tried to stop him, me, his mother, his brothers. And then, suddenly, we didn't need to."

Elsa caught the way Eric swallowed, the crease between his brows deepened. "Grandmother died."

Elsa pursed her lips, still taking all of the information in. Eric continued on, without missing a beat, "It was as if we hit a button, and Hans― well, he stopped pretending. And he started going bad: ruining his social reputation on purpose, getting into tabloids weeks after weeks. He was everything the media wanted out of us― a wasted pretty looking Prince, spoiled by his riches. Not that it's the first, of course. But..." He sighed, finally now driving up to the familiar drive lane. "And then, Elsa―"

She looked at him, eyebrows furrowed together.

Eric's blue eyes finally settled with hers, his expression saddened. "He met you."

She finally dragged her eyes away, her chest contracted in that way that made breathing seemed like a very difficult test and she gasped for some air. She shook her head, denying anything Eric must meant. Thousands of voices began to flood over in her head, like a dull ringing except these voices were scolding― all mad, all angry, all _wanted something from her_.

Stop.

"So, he's just using me? All this time?" Her last question was a whisper, one she herself barely registered in her head.

"I― I don't know, Elsa. He's not..." Eric frowned, hard and heavily focused, his grip shifted on the steering wheel, and then they stopped, and she saw it, Corona Manor's entrance and if she'll just open the door, she'll be up in her room in no time. But she didn't move. She _couldn't_ move. There's something keeping her hold, although she had no idea what. "If he is, then I'm not surprised. Not really. You're a nice person, I could tell. You don't deserve this."

Elsa paused, and then: "But?"

_There's always a 'but'_.

And when Eric nervously stole a glance from her, she's confirmed there was one.

"_But_ aside from keeping his― keeping Aurora from you, I think..." Erica swallowed thickly. "He never pretends around you. He's brash, rude, short-tempered, and he... It's funny, but I think he _cares_ about you. Actually cares about you. You can't really see it, but it's there."

"No," she shook her head, definite.

Hans? Care? Comedy gold, wasn't it?

(She felt empty when she didn't exactly find it funny.)

Eric gave her an even more sadder expression, like he's known how sticky the situation was, and could anticipate how deep they've gotten, but he had no idea how to pull them out of this, how to untangle a web already woven (_engraved_) into what was supposed to be a simple matter, and her stomach twisted and sunk. Too deep. Too messy.

Eric didn't say anything.

And he didn't need to.

* * *

><p>Her phone rung twice when the clock stroke eight, twelve minutes in. Her heart was heavy and she's had a report she badly needed reading but it's just lying all around her and she thought she'd been crying for <em>years<em> but it's must be just minutes, and she felt old. Worn. As though she's lived for one hundred and one years old, but she wasn't. Her phone rang. Twice. And it was there, by her fingertips, and she saw the caller ID and something squeezed inside.

(She skipped dinner.)

* * *

><p>By the time the clock stroke 8:39 PM, he's left her three voice messages.<p>

* * *

><p>By the time it's 8:55 PM, he's left her five voice messages, and a text. And she's still breathing. She's still not moving.<p>

Her fingers twitched.

* * *

><p><strong>From<strong>: H  
><em>Elsa, I need to talk to you<em>.

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><p>When it's 9:16 PM, he's calling her for the sixth time. She turned her back against the sound, shutting her eyes shut.<p>

(Her father's foreign lullaby didn't work this time.)

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><p><strong>From<strong>: H  
><em>Elsa, pick up the phone.<em>

* * *

><p>By the time it's 9:51 PM, she lost count of all of his missed calls, voice messages, and texts. But it's still ringing. It's still beeping.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>From<strong>: H  
><em>Elsa, dammit. Pick up the damn phone.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>From<strong>: H  
><em>Elsa, hear my explanation. Pick up the phone.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>From<strong>: H  
><em>Elsa, please answer your phone<em>.

* * *

><p><strong>From<strong>: H  
><em>Elsa, would you please answer your phone?<em>

* * *

><p><strong>From<strong>: H  
><em>Eric told me everything<em>.

* * *

><p><strong>From<strong>: H  
><em>Please<em>.

* * *

><p><strong>From<strong>: H  
><em>I'm sorry<em>

* * *

><p>By the time it was 10:37 PM, the phone stopped beeping ― and Elsa continued to stare at it. Her cheeks were stained with her dry tears, her snowy hair were sprawled all over the mattress and her phone was still on her fingertips. She did not move to take it. And she blinked.<p>

And she waited.

_I'm so tired_, she countered, releasing a heavy breath of air, and she was, she thought. She really was. Her mind was numb from thinking too deeply, and she thought: _where do I go from here?_

Her phone beeped.

(That was the final one.)

10:45 PM. She stared at it for five minutes, and because she was _so_ tired of even thinking, she decided to grip the phone and pressed her thumb over her screen, displaying his unreturned texts. She began to read.

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><p>At exactly 10:49 PM, Elsa reached to the final text.<p>

**From**: H  
><em>Elsa<em>.

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><p>.<p>

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(and she wondered―  
><em>where do I go from here?<em>)

...

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><p><strong>End Note<strong>: 2,637 words. Yelps. A short update, because I just really wanna insert Hans' (hopeless) texts. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter sooner. Reviews would make my day, pretty please?


	8. VIII

_**"T**_his is the way the world ends  
>Not with a bang but a whimper."<br>― T.S. Eliot

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><p><strong>VIII<strong>

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><p>Getting up the following morning was easier than Elsa expected.<p>

Her telephone's been dead since dawn broke and it sat idly near her thigh when she sat up. There was a moment of absolute silence when the first ray of sunlight filtered through her window to her skin that she found herself sort of lost, like she's missed the few recent memories and was caught between the realms of dreaming and of fully awake, and she wondered: _what was she doing here_. Regaining full conscious at last, Elsa exhaled through her nostrils, her shoulders dropped as she swept a curl of platinum blonde hair away.

Dragging herself to the bathroom, she carefully avoided her reflection on the mirror and didn't bother shedding her panties when her left hand reached out and twisted her shower into a full stream. Elsa's breath left her lungs momentarily when the first wave of water hit her back cruelly, staining her hair against her skin and causing the colour to turn into a darker shade than it originally was. Finally, a sigh of contentment escaped through the small line of space between her lips while she thudded her forehead against the cool glass, her blue eyes closed shut.

The water was running harshly, and if it was a figure, Elsa thought, it would have enveloped her whole naked body easily; its kisses against her skin was biting, but all at the same time, Elsa couldn't help but to feel as though the shower was beating her limbs back into shapes, and it was also breathing back into her flesh. She pondered.

Casting her fingers over her cheeks, Elsa turned to the shower and accepted the heavy fall of the water upon her face, moving her hands over her eyes to the hollow parts under her jaw. She sucked in a breath, and let her chin dropped.

Perhaps in another universe, it was possible for someone to stand under the shower for more than an hour, just because, but Elsa knew she wasn't living in that universe for now, or any sooner, though sometimes she held a wish she could, especially on that moment. But she ended up her shower soon enough, wrapped herself in a warm towel and walked out.

Everything after that was routine.

She ignored the slight swell over her eyes, the redness it brimmed, and her chapped lips when she fitted herself into a light floral dress and prepped up her hair into a double braid bun; her face soon covered in light make-up and and her stance ready to face another day. It was all in the norm, until her foot never ended stepping out of the room when it should— her legs instead was folded under the weight of her body as she settled on the carpet where her window laid, holding the scenery of the garden where the sun emerged into the sky, and on her laps were her fingers, tucked together; the sun felt terribly warm on her skin.

(Her phone remained dead.)

"This is stupid," she breathlessly scolded herself, a harsh whisper, when she pulled her brows together, frowning down at her hands— the beautiful scenery lifted its illusion, and Elsa felt a little sick. _I should get up_, she told herself a second afterwards, glancing at the bed where her phone still sat, immobile and stilled.

_I should also probably charge that_.

She forced herself to move, but just as her hands began to curl around the small metal, her door was knocked. "Um, Elsa?" The all-too-familiar voice squeaked through, and Elsa's stomach briefly twisted; she'd been here before, hearing the same knock and the same pleading tone. _Anna_. "Are you in there?"

"Anna," she breathed, stepping forward— this shouldn't happen again. It shouldn't. Anna should have never had to repeat those tones again, those fearful words, to try _so_ hard to reach out to her.

"I brought breakfast."

"You shouldn't have—" Elsa finally swung the door open, her sentences fell short when she's faced with an innocent pair of eyes, hope swam in them, her hands holding a mug in each, and steams were evaporating out of it. Anna beamed. "Anna."

"Hot chocolates," The strawberry blonde held them a little higher, chirping. "I know it's a little weird because summer's been hot lately, and the last thing anybody would want to drink is a really hot drink, but I figure, well— it's _chocolate_. So. I just, you know. I thought. I mean—"

"Anna."

"You want to share hot chocolates with me?"

"Of course I would," Elsa murmured, touched at the gesture and her lips turned into a softer smile; her shoulders digging against the door, pushing it to giver her sister a space to enter. "Come in."

Anna beamed, and didn't miss a step, eager certainly. Elsa almost breathed out a chuckle, weird to see her sister without a phone in her hands since considering how much the eighteen-year-old adored the internet. Once inside, Elsa followed her sister's trail, though with less hopping in her part and took a mug from Anna, the blue one, before deciding on sitting across from her little sister on the bed. The strawberry-blonde looked over the forgotten reports, still scattered around. "This is a lot of numbers," she commented, eyes wide.

_That's right_, Elsa remembered. Anna hated maths.

"Those are calculations." She corrected simply, inhaling the delicious smell of the hot drink, cradling it carefully with her hands. "It's... some of the climate change feedbacks that I've been keeping tabs on."

"Oh," came Anna's reply, still holding one of the papers. "Climate change?"

"The feedbacks, yeah." Elsa began to recite from her memory, "it's... important in understanding global warming, because the feedbacks should determine the climate sensitivity and future climate state."

"Those..." Anna pondered, clicking her tongue. "Are _some_ big words, huh?"

Elsa merely shrugged, "I suppose they are."

"So, have you read this? Is the earth, like, I don't know, okay?" She responded, eyes blinking like a young child.

Elsa smiled at her question, at her expression, and she remembered a five year old Anna, the one before the accident, blinking at her, asking her if she thought the snowman was good enough, and if they were ready to build the next one― _we're going to build an empire made out of snow!_ "I don't know," Elsa answered honestly, her voice a gentle hum. "I haven't got the chance to fully evaluate it."

"Well, that's sad, I guess." Anna finally put the papers away, sipping on her chocolate drink. "You should tell me once you've done reading it."

"Would you like that?" Elsa hiked her eyebrows.

"Yeah, sure." Anna beamed, her cheekbones rose. "It'd be good to know if the earth's still okay, you know?"

"Okay." Elsa nodded, a small smile graced her own face, delighted. "I'll tell you."

"Good." Anna nodded, the same smile plastered over her face, imitating the one that's already carved on Elsa's and brushed a few of her unruly strawberry blonde strands. "Good. That's good to know," she muttered, and then paused, the smile faltered, just a little. "Elsa, are you okay?" She managed to squeak.

Elsa blinked.

"Of course I'm okay," the platinum blonde answered, for a moment uncertain whether if she _was_ okay, or if she's just putting a facade. "Why wouldn't I be?"

_Please don't mention him_.

"I don't know. I just, I guess..." Anna trailed off, shrugging. Her onyx blue eyes settled elsewhere, following the pattern of the mattress up to the carpet on the floor. "Hans isn't taking you out today?"

"No," she answered honestly, almost too naturally. "He's... visiting his brothers, I think." Unconsciously, Elsa slipped up a small smile, recalling the face he made when he told her about it the other day, back when everything had yet to crash and burn. It sliced her up somewhere to learn that she knew about this information, that she's been with him long enough that these kind particulars were hovering at the back of her mind, kept as a memory. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips.

"Brothers? That must be fun."

_Yeah_, she nearly scoffed. _Fun_. "Like Christmas."

The amount of sarcasm in her voice could have made him smirked. _Don't think about him_. Elsa faked a smile, though she suspected it must looked a little bitter. She'd never could feigned such happiness very well. She wasn't good with masks (unlike him), she was just good at avoiding things, shutting the doors, ignoring the obvious. "When will he be back?"

Elsa shrugged, suddenly the taste of the chocolate on the tips of her tongue tasted bleak. "He didn't say."

"Oh." Anna nodded, understood. "He'll be back soon, I'm sure. I wonder if he's visiting Devon. Maybe he'd post a few photos. They never post a lot of family pictures, you know. The most picture Devon's ever posted of the Southern Isles are with his nieces and nephews. They're super cute, by the way. He always called them the 'munchkins'."

Elsa gave out a rueful smile, "Are you still in contact with him?"

"Who? Devon? Yeah, we tweeted each other sometimes. He's sending me links on, like, these bunch of funniest stuff ever, like, there's this one time when he sent me a link to a prank vid, and I laughed for ten minutes straight, I swear he's trying to kill me with humour. Can people do that though? Laugh so hard that they die?"

Clearly Anna wasn't actually seeking an answer when she only shrugged the question off the next second, shaking her head. She put her mug away. "Anyway," she began, "There's something I need to talk to you about."

Elsa gave her a questionable raised eyebrow.

"I think I want to go to college."

Elsa blinked. "I'm sorry, what?" She shook her head briefly, putting aside her blue mug. "I thought―"

"I said I wasn't ready for college, yeah. I wasn't. Not during high school graduation. I wasn't ready." Anna lifted her shoulders, and dropped them, pursing her lips. "But I gave a thought over it. And it's scary, sure, but... I've been researching over some courses, and I think... Well, I think I'm ready to see some colleges. See what they can offer me. I mean, I'm not saying I've _confirmed_ my decision, but. You know. I thought I'd give it a try."

"Anna, that's..." Elsa gasped, licked her lips. A breath of proudness swooned over, and Elsa bit back a huge smile. "Have you told Auntie?"

"No." Anna answered, gnawing on her lips, her eyes drooped to the bed before returning to her sister. "I wanted to tell you first."

"Oh, Anna." Elsa smiled warmly then, tilting her head slightly to one side, exhaling. "That's the finest news I've ever heard in a while." She told earnestly, pulling her younger sister into a hug, to which the strawberry-blonde quickly returned. "I'm so proud of you."

"You are?"

"Of course. You know I do." Elsa pulled away, clutching Anna's hands. "You know you'll always have my support."

"I know," Anna grinned, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, I wish mama and papa were here."

Elsa felt her heart weighed down, but she quickly shook it off when she decided on saying: "Mama and papa would have been so happy to see you grow up, Anna. To see the both of us where we are."

"We are... _good_, aren't we, Elsa? You and I?"

"We're very good," Elsa answered, nodding.

"Good," Anna nodded back, pulled her older sister into another flush of a hug that lasted more than the last one, and pulled apart. Anna later on proceeded by taking her sister's by the arm, gripping it, her freckled face suddenly turned a tad more serious. "Now, you have to help me look up into some of the schools. I need outsider's opinion."

Elsa didn't say no.

* * *

><p>It was weird that standing there on the open grass, with the soft wind caressing her skin, her mind couldn't help but to revert to the only greenest place she could ever think of. <em>Don't think about that<em>. She shook herself out of trance, and inhaled deeply. It's been two days, she thought. Two days.

She never opened up the texts again.

Elsa's been helping a lot with Anna lately, and today was the day where they went on to visit some of the local colleges. She could still feel the distinct pressure where Aunt Primrose had planted a kiss on her forehead, and the image of the older woman doing the same thing with Anna, before they embarked on their journey; the insight from Uncle Thomas also helped, since most of his associates worked mostly at universities, and he's had a couple of experiences himself.

They've been looking into Mass Comm more than anything, although Anna seemed unsure herself. It was apparent that she seemed interested in furthering her studies, but it was also clear that none of the majors they've talked about seemed to interest her. Still though, knowing her younger sister as she did, Elsa knew Anna wasn't one to fall back and give up as easily. So, that's why they're still here.

It didn't matter though. Elsa liked spending time with Anna.

It was just unfortunate that the university they're visiting right now a captivating scenery where the grass stretched on forever; it's crowded here, sure, with a few of the students hanging out under the summer sun, but it felt familiar. Too familiar.

_Stop it. Stop thinking about anything related to him!_

A wave of depression attacked her chest and Elsa felt as though her bones succumbed to gravity and her knees went weak. She forced herself to kept a better grip and steadied her posture, finally tilting her head to look carefully at the surroundings, noting bunch of differences from the what-seemed-like a meadow of the Southern Isles. She's not doing this, she thought. She's not crying over him again.

But it's also weird.

The more she didn't want to think about him, the more he invaded her mind. If she wasn't sane as she was, she would have thought he's living at the back of her skull, attacking her conscious whenever he felt she's forgetting him, sticking the glue of reminder to tell her that he's definitely not leaving, annoying her to no ends. She chuckled out emptily. Of course he'd annoy her. Even when he's not here.

_Both of you were going to be filthy_―

Elsa screwed her eyes shut and hushed out a mantra she thought she'd pushed away: conceal, don't feel. _Don't feel_. She opened them again and reevaluate her thoughts quick enough to catch up to gravity. Anna was skipping to her. "Elsa," she called, a little breathless.

"Has Mr. Smith shown you around?" Elsa asked, referring to the man who had been their guidance, offering Anna a quick tour.

"Yeah. It's kinda cool. Their lectures hall are all kinds of exciting. Their professors are okay, I guess."

"Interesting," Elsa noted, her brain's processing the slight changes on her sister's face. "But?"

"But― why do you think there's a but― _o_-kay. There's a but." Anna sighed then, tugging on her pig tails. "I don't know. I just―"

"You don't like it?"

"It's senior year high school all over again! I'm not, I can't. _Ugh_." The strawberry blonde made a strangled-type of face, sighing heavily through her mouth. "I don't know _what_ to do, Elsa. I'm not smart at anything! I'm not all... science-y like you, or all artist-y like Rapunzel. I'm not good with sports. I don't do well in History or Geography. My math is the worst thing ever, and I just―"

"_Anna_."

Elsa squeezed the hand on her sister's shoulder, urging the eighteen-year-old to flutter her eyes up at her. "It's all going to be okay. Nobody's rushing you. In time, we'll find whatever that fits you."

"You sure?"

Elsa nodded, nearly professionally. "Positive."

Anna beamed. "Well then," she declared, after long last. "Let's just go eat. I can't stand this place for any second longer. I'm thinking some Mexican sounds good, don't you think?"

Elsa agreed, but not about the food suggestion.

* * *

><p>(Whenever her phone buzzed with a text, she pretended she didn't check as quickly as she really did because she was expecting something from <em>him<em>

― because she wasn't.)

Elsa breathed, and learned to shove her phone down her pocket.

(Her recent text was from Kai, asking her if he should buy the chips Anna and Rapunzel loved so much.)

* * *

><p>There was just a thing about moving on.<p>

Though Elsa really didn't like to think of it as "moving on", because if she starts using that term then it would suggest that she had somewhere to move _from_ on. And Hans wasn't really a place to even begin with. If he were, then he'd be one-fourth into construction before it was cancelled and demolished for no apparent reason. Elsa didn't like the comparison― but if there was one thing she'd willing to admit was that Hans _happened_, and the things which tumbled afterwards really did took place.

And there was just one thing about moving past that.

It's when Elsa found complete silence when everyone was chuckling over something during dinner; all cheeks plumped up, amused chuckles traveled across the atmosphere, straight to her core, to the cells which functioned her, the nerves which electrified her― and perhaps it wasn't _silence_. It was the sound of contentment, of being with them. Of just _being_.

Not that being with Hans shielded her from that, but it did took most of her time. She'd missed this. Being able to hear about Uncle Thomas' endless tales during work, Aunt Primrose quip of chatters in between, Rapunzel's bright eyes sharing the excitement, Anna's glinting laughter echoing against the wall. But, she thought, she'd also missed his brutal honesty (not that he was very honest from the start to think of it), his jabs of comments, his skeptical way of finding humour.

She missed _him_.

―Elsa learned that moving on? Wasn't so easy when your brain naturally thought of him every time it spaced out.

* * *

><p>She bathed with cold water one morning; it abused her skin like a cursed lover, forcing strangled gasps out of her mouth.<p>

_But_, she told herself, seeing his face instead, shoulders shrugging. _The cold was never supposed to bother me_.

Strangely, it was the warmth she seek once she's done.

* * *

><p>The idea of him prancing to her lab, which she started attending again after the fourth day since their little accident, was something she'd imagined him categorised under, Things That Make God Laugh. But that's what he did, anyway. To her surprise.<p>

It's been a month then, she counted, and she was waiting for Ariel and their lunch when the red-head just come in, biting her lips. Now that Elsa thought of it, there was a little hint of guilt swimming across Ariel's features. Ariel didn't know about what happened between her and Hans, of course, but the red-head was smart. Surely, she could figure something went wrong along the way. After all, the very first reason she didn't come to the lab as often was because Hans was accompanying her on introducing her to the society.

"Um, someone wants to see you," Ariel greeted hastily when she walked in, carrying in paper brown bags with her, the oil kinda stained the bottom of the bag. Elsa didn't cringe as much, turned on the wheels of her chair.

"Someone?" She pondered over a short list of names she knew, "Who?"

Ariel shrugged instead, her back to her, typing in a few of the passwords around the computers, or more codes. "Says it's important," she deflected, and Elsa frowned.

_Who?_

She stood up, tugged on her lab coat and arranged her steps gracefully out of the lab, the phrase 'curiosity kills the cat' played in her head like an annoying sound getting caught in repeat. All of her senses were suddenly at their highest peak, alarming her of every move from her surroundings though the rational part of her tried to calm her down. _This was stupid_, she thought after searching for the figure that supposedly wanted to meet her for a whole minute. _There's no one_.

Elsa's fingers curled over the railings, her eyes scanned over the garden and she remembered her first, personal encounter with Eric there.

"You look lovely."

She spun around _so_ fast, Elsa thought the whole world was collapsing around her for a few blinking seconds. She paused― _because, dammit, that voice_. She recognised it so well. It had been drawled too much around her that it's basically been anchored into the deep part of her long-term memory, marking its place forcefully. She thought she spotted black dots when her eyes took in her casual wear, and expensive shoes. She glared.

"It's been a while," he said instead, his voice was cool.

"Whatever." She turned, her whole head heavy with the repeated sentences of _how dare he_. How can he even― Elsa gritted her teeth. "You should leave."

"No."

A combination of angry snort and a scoff left her lips and her brows furrowed, for a moment confused by his abrupt and firm answer. "Wha-what do you mean, _no?_ I have authority here, Hans. I can call security and take you away from here if needed to. You have nothing to say to me."

He shook his head, pushing his tongue to his left cheek. "You won't do that."

"You―" She almost trembled. _Almost_. "You wanna bet?"

He closed his eyes then, as though regretting his choice of words and began again. "You can't do that," he said, his voice low, stepping forward, his emerald eyes finally meeting with her blue ones. "Please. Elsa."

_He never said please_, a pleading voice which suspiciously sounded like Anna whimpered. _At least, not with how he's looking at you right now_.

Her stomach twisted.

She took a shaky step behind, hiding her trembling hands behind. "You... you should leave, Hans."

"I..." He started, and a quiet sigh escaped him. His shoulders dropped, as though defeated. But Hans wasn't like that, was he? He always stood stall, his ego going up all the way to reach the heaven, if such thing existed, his confidence commanding his every moves. But now he looked― he looked like he's lost a match, when all he really wanted to do was just _win_. "I need to talk to you, Elsa."

"You have nothing to say to me―"

"I have a _lot_ to say."

"I thought you've said enough the other day." She snapped, clearly dissatisfied.

"Eric told me everything." He said, his eyes furrowed, but there's sadness in there, she thought, though that wasn't possible. Hans wasn't the type to get sad over something as a tool like her. _Something_ _pathetic_. Elsa swallowed and sniffled, her chest contracted in a way that made her hard to swallow her lumps of needed oxygen, but she did it anyway. She had to. "Everything he told you."

"It was the truth, wasn't it?" She asked, eyes wide. "Are you going to feed me lies again?"

"I've never―" He raised his voice, then stopped, meeting her eyes, his nostrils flared. He swallowed, his Adam's apple moving as he did so, and he dragged his eyes elsewhere, taking his fingers through his slick red hair. "I've never lied to you. You're the only... you're the only person I've never lied to."

_Liar_. Elsa rolled her eyes, "Then Aurora's just a figment of my imagination, is it?"

"No." He stressed out, lines of frustration marked by his eyes. "Aurora's real. Everything Eric told you... it's real. I just, I never told you about her, that's all. But lying... that's a whole different thing."

There was a line of truth running in his sentences and Elsa took a moment to process it, until she drew careful breath through her nostrils, hopeless swung over her shoulder blades and befriended gravity. She shook her head, her hands rubbed her cheeks. "How is it much different when you end up hurting other people still?"

Hans paused, and time stood still.

Elsa watched him.

"You're right," he finally drawled out. "It didn't make any difference at all. But... it's still true. You're the only person I've never lied to. At least, not like how I always do."

"_How_ do you always do?" She bellowed, frowning.

"I― I don't know!" He answered, his face shadowed a beat of pure rage and exasperation. "Like... Like Aurora. I... You're not her. Yes, there were parallel between _our_ relationship, and mine and Aurora's, but the truth of the matter was... you were never her. You were never― everything that's happened between us... I mean, of course I've thought of it, but... I could never... You're not Aurora, Elsa. You're not... You're _you_."

She looked down, hugging herself, and whispered out: "What does _that_ mean?"

"It means..." He sighed, tired. "You heard the whole story from one point of view. I think you owe it to me, at least, for the time we've spent together, to hear it from _my_ side. You owe me at least that." He shuddered out strings of breath then, pinching the bridge of his nose, agitation reeked his being. "_Please_."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

And Elsa stared.

* * *

><p><strong>End Note<strong>: 4,453 words. First of all, I'm not even going to lie to y'all. I've had the worst kind of writer's block of the history of writer's block because I've experienced these type of writer's blocks where I had it all planned up 'till the last dot (which I did with this story, so yay me!) but I have no idea what to write for a chapter. It was _torturing_. With that, and life because it's a demanding little shit, I apologise for the late update. I really do.

Second, let's talk about this chapter: now I know there's a lack of Hans/Elsa in this, but writing on how Elsa was slowly picking up life after Hans basically shattered her whole trust foundation over him was kinda important to me although I can't exactly pin-point as to why. So, I ended up writing this, and yeah, it's not my best work, but it'll contribute to the story development hopefully. There will be more Hans/Elsa in the future updates though, so that's good (right?).

Third, because I've recently checked Disney Wiki, I've learned of the King and Queen Arendelle's official name and I've inserted it into the story. If there's any slip of mistake with the names, please don't be shy to inform me for I will do my best to correct it. As to Hans' last name: though I'm aware his surname is officially Westerguard (and _fuck it_, I love that name), I've decided to stick with Andersen because there's actually a little story I've already constructed with the Southern Isles' family carrying the surname Andersen. So, that's that.

Fourth, I think I'll be doing an interlude between this chapter and the last one from Hans' point of views when he's visiting and hanging out with his "dearest brothers" because they're bunch of assholes, and they _need to be written down_, though I suspect I wouldn't find time for it, which is unfortunate because I was really hoping to write them. Still though, I am determined. If life is kind enough, you will be informed of the interlude and hopefully, we'll get to see a glimpse of what's happening in Hans' crazy head, and be introduced to his brothers (my favourite being _Devon_ for the moment).

Fifth, the rant is over. _Thank God_. The feedbacks I've gotten lately really was _so_ encouraging that my heart was doubled over with Hans/Elsa love, like I can't even, you guys. It's good to know you haven't given up hope for my fiction, and I do hope I haven't disappoint any of you so far. An opinion or two would be highly appreciated. Thank you for the read.

**PS**: _Next chapter_, Hans tried to explain shit, Elsa got mad. Whutt?


	9. IX

"**_Y_**ou wanted smooth sailing and I've always been a tsunami."  
>— 10 Word Story by C.R.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>XI<strong>

* * *

><p>Elsa's eyes travel hesitantly over the large wrists and firm shoulders, one, it seemed, that she hadn't seen for a while and feel something nasty and weird tugging at the strings of her heart when she realises that <em>yes<em>, god, this is really happening.

Her fingers twitch.

She makes the point on curling it into careful fists and shoves it under the table, pulling her gaze to the side just as she sees his emerald gaze dropping back to focus wholly on her. _It's been too long_, she thought absently, but didn't say. _It feels like years_.

_I miss you_.

And, she thinks, she really does.

It feels like a dream, really, now that she thinks it over: sitting here again, facing him. At least she has treated whatever happened between them like a dream. A shocking one in the beginning, when his lips had dipped down to capture hers unexpectedly, catching her truly off-guard, before it travels to a smoother plot where they kept spending time with each other and while there were challenges, Elsa can't help but to admit that there were moments in it which she could appreciate.

There were so many things she learnt, so many things he had make her feel and experience, that it's impossible for her to turn and deny the importance of those events. And then there's the downfall, the part where the dreams turns into something ugly, something horrible — a nightmare. And then he's gone. Just like that. For one month.

One whole month, where she's left to pick up the pieces of where he has pierced his claws in and scratched her raw; the sinister whispers of _Aurora Aurora Aurora_ rings in her ear like a curse reminding its victim of their damning fate. And how she's managed to pick herself up is still a question in itself, but she has, everyday. She wakes up, she goes down to breakfast, she talks and smiles and work and day by day, it gets easier to convince herself that perhaps his bright green eyes that holds so much is just truly another dream gone wrong.

But then he comes strutting in, like this, confident, strong, arrogant, and — and Elsa doesn't know what to think.

He looks like a dream.

Maybe he is.

Maybe she's just hallucinating. Maybe if she reaches out right now and tries to touch him, he'll be gone, and she will find out that she's been talking to herself all along. But that's impossible, because then he moves, just one smooth move of long naked fingers wrapping around his cup and Elsa knows — oh, she _knows_ — that even in her imagination, she's never possessed such ability to act so gracefully. Not a hitch to his steps, no hesitance, no _nothing_.

Hans has always been perfect. Perhaps not in the way he talks or, necessarily in the way he behaves even. But when he _moves_ — there's nothing like it.

Other than his voice, Elsa would recognise his trained, well-mannered actions anywhere.

"I'm sorry," he says, after a while, exhaling out, and from the corner of her eyes, she watches his fingers twirl with the cup of hot tea he has; his eyes no longer fixated on her but on his thumb that was flicking at the edges of the cup helplessly. Short nails scrapping on the label that cannot be scratched, and if Elsa's not wrong, it can be said that he might've done it out of nervousness but — that's impossible. Hans of the Southern Isles does not get nervous. Just like Elsa of Arendelle is never graceful, elegant nor brave. She's just a little mouse. A little mouse to _entertain_; weak, helpless and another toy to be played with.

And suddenly Elsa is mad again; the heat rising up from her chest to her cheeks, painting her once pale expression with a shade of scarlet that might have been a match to the colour of his hair. Or her sister's — as she reminds herself of the _exact_ reason they have had a downfall, and why there has been a separation between them. And, why is here? Why has he come back?

He said he'd wanted to explain himself. No, not explain — tell it from _his_ side of the story. But what is there to tell? She'll just be hearing a version of the story that could either make the first version she hears like a fairytale, or he'd tell a version of the story where he'd be making excuses for his cruel actions towards Aurora. Either way, she'll leave him today. They'll part ways. And if she can help it, they won't ever have to speak to the other again.

His freckles stood out under the ray of afternoon sunlight falling on his face, and one flaming hair curling a little near his one eyebrow and Elsa's convinced herself that her stomach definitely did _not_ squirm at such image.

He suddenly shifts and pulls something from out of his pants' pockets, seemingly giddy and yet, all at the same time, coolly professional and Elsa, out of curiosity, watched purposely, observing on what trick he'd be willing to pull on her next.

"I thought I…" He paused then, finally pulling out several small papers, which were decaying and curling by the edges, and pauses; his eyes look far-away, and Elsa stares at that, stares at this transfixed _image_ of him, knowing it isn't always, or none at all, that she would catch him looking so… out of place? Out of time? Like he's stuck in a place where he can't stay but he's not quite ready to say his goodbye just yet. There is serenity in the sadness that he's dwelling on right now and honestly, it's taking her breath away.

It's also a bit concerning and Elsa's about to reach out, hesitant fingers are ready to curl around his thick wrist to pull him out his trance that's starting to scare her out when he blinks a few times, like he's just realised that he's not completely alone, and he shakes his head, clears his throat and moves his own thumb to fix the curled edges of the small rectangle papers.

And then: _it's not papers_, Elsa thought, realising.

It's pictures.

He smiles through his eyes, dejected and chap-fallen, but the air of _dangerous_, the classic rich bad boy still hasn't quite left his being and Elsa shivers. He pushes the photos on the table with a combined manner of sophisticated grace and careful authority; thumbing the pictures down right where she could reach out and take it if she wants to, "I thought you'd want to see it. It's… some of the collections of my childhood. It's not _grand_, I'd say, nor would I prefer to share it with anybody… but, uh…" He pauses again, swallowing, eyes flickering down while Elsa bravely picks on one picture, tracing her finger over the sepia-ed colour photography, a toddler with the same bright eyes looking back at her, sitting on the laps of, Elsa assumed, his carer.

Despite herself, she smiles.

"Elsa." His voice catches her attention again and she looks at him, saw his brows furrow, the corners of his mouth twitches. His eyes slants, treacherously, but handsome. Oh gosh, if he isn't _handsome_. "It's just you."

She looks at him, confused.

"I've never showed any of this to anyone. Aurora didn't even know about Bill or my father. Or, really, anything. She'd like to, I'm certain, but."

"H-Hans?" She finally voices out, her attempt weak and small, just like how she truly feels on the inside, and watches as his shoulders drop, his forehead falling to his folded arms on the table.

"It's you." He repeats silently. "It's always been you."

"I d-don't — I don't _understand_."

Green eyes are flicked sharply to meet hers then and Elsa gasps; something in her cannot believe how deadly one can manage to look and yet, there's a certain type of captivity that she's feeling herself falling in when his gaze meet hers, like it's always been, when one to think about it. With Hans, it's as though you face Death itself, and yet you still stay. Despite knowing that there will be danger, there will be extreme pain you'll have to endure. And while it's exhilarating, is it truly worth it?

Elsa's not very certain now.

Hans raises himself back up, takes a deep breath in and roughly combs his fingers down the side of his thick red hair. He's not looking at her, then, but he looks frustrated, she could see, as she sneakily still tries to go over the pictures that he's decided to share.

There is a picture of a woman — Hans' mother, Elsa recognises a second later — with a young boy by her side. They both don't look too happy, but at least the woman is attempting to smile. But it had been too fake, which made Elsa guiltily prefer the boy's serious face, frowning hard into the picture as though he wishes to imprint his sorrow till kingdom come.

And there's a picture of a man with the same woman — Hans' parents — before her eyes land on the picture of the man again, though this time while he's seated, around him are five young boys; all varying in ages, and the man is smiling, _genuinely_ smiling, and sillily, Elsa can see a little of Hans in there. The sincerity. If Hans is ever sincere, that is.

When she looks up again, it takes her a little by surprise to find that he's been staring at her and Elsa gasps, tries to calm herself down and slowly put the pictures where it was again, all the while ignoring the way her heart is hammering under her chest. She forgets sometimes that he has this effect on her. It's completely disheartening.

"Whatever Eric told you, it is the truth. I am in no business to deny what happened. I was young, selfish, greedy and when I saw Aurora, I saw an opportunity. I wanted to be worthy, I wanted to be — _more_ than I could ever hope for. The youngest CEO in my family. Think about it. The riot it'll cause between my brothers. Oh, how I would've proven them all wrong."

And Elsa suddenly feels small again, hearing this damned story once more, but it's her who has agreed that she'll listen, right? And listen, she will. He's right. She owes it to the good times they've had to hear his side of the tale, although he's not really listing anything from his points of view. In fact, he's just reconfirming what Eric has told her.

She wonders, momentarily, what is he up to.

"That's not—" Hans bows his head then, a little, in a way that might've even suggested he's shameful, and suddenly Elsa is struck by how wrong that image is. It makes Hans look more… _humane_, which is impossible, for someone who's acted like he's a God the whole time. "That's never been the case with you."

He chuckles darkly then, fingers fiddling with his cup again, and Elsa notices that his eyes are glancing over the pictures of his mother with the boy and suddenly Elsa recognises the frown. It's him. The unhappy boy was Hans. "I've never wanted to take over your business nor have I ever intended to marry you just with the intention of stealing your business from you. I mean, sure, the thought crossed my mind of course, I mean, why wouldn't it, but — no. Overtime, I realise that… that I can't go through with it."

"Why not?" She finds herself asking bravely and she would've been surprised, she thinks, if she isn't already too curious.

"Because I can't. Because the last time I did, my brothers threatened to send me to a psychiatric ward. Because it's you. Honestly, Elsa, I don't know."

_Because it's you_, it echoes.

Elsa stares at him.

Hans releases a breath of hot air afterwards, shifting again in his chair to make himself a bit more comfortable, and while frustrated, Elsa can't help to note how wondrous it is for him to just be like that and yet still manage to appear like he has the whole world ready to fight for him with an easy flick of his fingers. "With that said however, I won't say that I am not selfish. The reason I chose to 'help you' was … well, truthfully, I thought it would be fun. A splendid way to spend my times more purposely, I suppose. The addition that you're Arendelle's heiress helps, certainly. I mean, the entertainment it'll produce throughout the journey. But then…"

"B-but then?"

His eyes flicked over again, and their gaze met, though this time Elsa was determined to hold the contact until, surprisingly, it's Hans who looked away, looking smaller than Elsa has ever remembered her to be. "But then _what_, Hans?" She asks forcefully, wanting to know what happened. What changed. Did she became something worse than a toy that he started her out as? Or? Or maybe there was something else...

He looks irritated.

"I don't know, Elsa," he grits out, shutting his eyes close for that one moment — like he's disgusted with the fact himself. Disgusted that he has to admit it aloud. "I don't know what happened, but I like—" and then he pauses and something in Elsa freezes at the word, wondering what it is that he's going to say. "When I tell you of my brothers and my father and my mother — when I asked you to ask me something that's personal to me — and when you _know_ it — I don't … it doesn't make me wanna scratch my eyes out."

And Elsa thinks again about his words as it begins to etch at the back of her skull, engraving itself like calligraphy on tombstones, about how it shatters and yet it has built so many things all at once. This is going to haunt her at nights, she thinks, keeps her up awake just like those years she's spent behind locked doors away, away from Anna. Maybe this is what he wants.

She doesn't know anymore.

Oh, she's just so confused. And afraid. This man has hurt her way too many times. With his words and actions. _So many times_. She doesn't know if she's willing to risk herself into getting hurt again. Not anymore. What if he's lying? What if these were all just acts? He may say he's not after … whatever it is that he's after (and she realises she can't even say it, can't even fathom the idea that she's just another ticket for his riches and goals, another _Aurora_), but what does she know? Can she trust him? Can she, truly?

And just as she realises that she can't breathe properly, she feels a warm hand circling around her knuckles and she looks up to find his steady gaze, "You're okay," he says, lowly, naturally, green eyes looking from her freckled face to her knuckles before she pulls her hand from his and she sees him wincing before he curls his fingers into a fist, like he's regretting his action to ever reach out.

"I'm not perfect, but the idea of _you_ being aware of that?" He whispers harshly, maybe even just to himself, "It settles with me."

He shakes his head then, like he's erasing the mere existence of what just happened, and finally takes a big gulp of the hot tea. Either the high temperature of the drink doesn't effect him, or he's pretending that it isn't, when the cup is brought down, half of the content are gone and Elsa watches, too shocked to say anything and too scared to risk it.

She needs time to think.

She needs time—

"I don't expect forgiveness. But…" He stands up then, tugs on his suit and Elsa can see that he's swallowing hard, like everything about this meeting kills him. Or his ego. "But if you're willing to give it, I'll wait." And just like that, he turns and leaves. And Elsa can't help but to inwardly comment that even in his apology, it seems like he's ordering her around.

She doesn't know why that causes her to smile somehow.

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><p><strong>End Note<strong>: Comes back 800 years too late with Starbucks. What's up, guys. I know, I knows. Bella, you're such a shitty writer. How dare you leave a fanfic unfinished. Well, to be honest with you guys, things happen, I guess. I got discouraged and I lost inspirations, and maybe even, I've outgrown Frozen. But I'm here now. Funny story cause I was terribly sick for the last week and it's only just recently, when I was lying down trying to beat my headache away that I decided to re-read some of my old story, and I decided to give this a re-read. And then I remembered: oh holy _fuck_, this is the only story in the history of my writing that I actually took the time to miraculously plan 'till the final dot, like legit I had this planned till the _last_ chapter you guys, and yet here it is. Lied unfinished with that cursed _Updated: Apr 29 2014_. So I took it upon myself to re-watch Frozen, re-view ForsakenWitchery's Hans/Elsa videos that are absolutely amazing on Youtube and kinda slowly work my way to finish this story again.

With that said, please take heavy note that **(1)** If you haven't read _nulla_, which is an interlude between the previous chapter and this chapter from Hans' points of view, please do so. It tells heavily of what happened when Elsa didn't text Hans back and how exactly Hans coped with the fact that he fucked up. **(2)** I have made minor changes to this fanfiction like, for instance, instead of a _one_ _week_, I've changed the separation time between Hans and Elsa after the Aurora shizz has blown up to _one month_. There's a lot of reason as to why I'm changing the time, but let's just summarise that the story will flow better this way. **(3)** I AM NOT THE SAME PERSON I AM OVER A YEAR AGO, since this fanfiction last updated. Therefore, my style of writing have also changed. Like, a lot. With that said, I try to still imitate the way that I used to write (because holy shit I was actually good omg cries) but no guarantees. I don't wanna stress myself too much over this, you know? Then I'll get discouraged again and my effort to try and actually finish this will burn itself into the air.

And then you guys have to wait, for like, what — another whole year for this fanfiction to be updated? Honestly, I'm a cruel person, but I'm not _that_ cruel. Hm, what more? Oh yes! I don't know if there's any Hans/Elsa fans left out there, so I really have no idea if I'd even get any response when this chapter goes out. But, I mean, if you're still around and still like, reading this. Then, _thank you_. And yes, I am very sorry for being very crappy but … yeah, if you're reading this, I appreciate you okay. Merry Christmas, you guys. And if you feel like giving me something, a review would be kinda awesome? I mean.

Winks,  
>BELLA.<p>

**For future references**: 2,879 words.


	10. X

"**_T_**he biggest coward is a man who awakens a woman's love with no intention of loving her."  
>— Bob Marley<p>

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><p><strong>X<strong>

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The biggest coward is a man  
>who awakens a woman's love<p>

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with no intention of loving her

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(_what happens if he falls anyway..._)

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"Auntie?" For a moment, Elsa is mad at how weak and small she'd sounded. How pathetic. Like she's back to being the little girl who's just lost her parents and were trying desperate to _fit in_, to be okay again, just so Aunt Primrose nor Uncle Thomas would throw her out onto the streets. After all, she's never been good with people, not even to her little most favourite, most kind sister. Maybe even her Uncle and Auntie was scared of her, then. Afraid. Or worse, _hate_ her. But just as she was when she was that little girl, Aunt Primrose, who's been engrossed with tendering to the flowers, have never looked at her with as much as an off-putting glint to suggest that they didn't want her here. They do.

They always do. It's something Elsa has to constantly remind herself; she wishes she was braver. Has the mighty confidence as a certain red-headed prince-wannabe has; one he proven to easily shed and wear insistently to his heart's desire. Oh, if only things were different. Maybe she wouldn't have wounded up here, so confused and baffled by what life has thrown at her.

(But then again — her train of thought couldn't help but to take her to wonder — if she weren't who she has become, she wouldn't have met the certain red-headed prince-wannabe that, while morally ruined, has a certain kind of beauty in the way that he is. The way that he _thrived_. The way he speaks and talks and looks at her and grasps at her hand and tells her she's okay when she's getting a little lost in her own mind. There's a certain kind of _something_ in him that Elsa wouldn't meet if she was different, and that, Elsa thinks, would be a shame.)

Aunt Primrose's large eyes greet her again and Elsa has to shake herself from her mini trance; a small smile hovering by the edges of her thin mouth as Aunt Primrose stands and begins to pick on her dirty gloves that she's been using to protect herself from the thorns of the roses. "Is there something wrong, Elsa?" Aunt Primrose asks gently as Elsa steps forward, blue gaze falling on the garden that's too beautiful to exist (and too pretty that it reminds her of the large Southern Isles and how proper they've kept their plants) before she turns to her aunt — her beautiful, beautiful aunt — and smiles just a bit more in reassurances.

"N-no, of course not." The hesitance in her tone stings — she needs to be better. Better. _Better_. — but she moves forward, not allowing the damned self-hatred to drown on her conscience today. Or at least, not in this garden. Such gorgeous things don't deserve an ugly breakdown from her. And, plus, she's here to talk. To confront. Not to shed her tears and sob story. "No."

Aunt Primrose, ever the concerned maternal-figure, raises an eyebrow and motions them to a table she's decoratively put in the middle of the garden, just a few steps away from where the small fountain is. "Elsa?" Her tone is questioning, doubting of her choice of answers and, honestly, Elsa doesn't blame Auntie. If she were the older woman, she would've doubted herself.

"Auntie," she remarks surely, hands clasped in front of her torso in a manner she remembers her mother used to practise — _like a proper woman_ — and tips her chin up to establish her cool-headedness. She has got this. She can do this. Hans would be proud of her, she recalls pathetically, feeling something stinging from the inside of her chest where her heart should be whenever she remembers anything that's of concern to the conceited character. "I need to tell you something."

"Elsa." Her Auntie's tone this time is harsher — as though Elsa's attempt to ease her all this time has failed, and maybe it has — Auntie's dark brows furrowing while she stares back, just as one of the help fills the empty china cups on the pristine small metal table with hot tea. "What's the matter, honey?"

"I need advice." She urges hurriedly, afraid that she's came off way too wrongly. She doesn't want Aunt Primrose to be agitated with her — she just wants guidance. And since Auntie is the closest thing she has to a mother since when own passed away, she'll take what she can get. It's okay though, she has to remind herself: Auntie gives out the best advices. After all, if it weren't for Auntie's bold moves to confront her during her grieving periods, she wouldn't have the best relationship she's having right now with Anna.

She wouldn't have gotten over the fear of her own ability. She wouldn't have embraced it.

And just like that, it's as though Aunt Primrose has known of everything since the beginning when she only nods wisely, firmly, gesturing Elsa to the other chair while she slides one tea-filled china cup down Elsa's way. "Sit," Auntie insists, and when Elsa does, Auntie stares ahead seriously, the very face of patience and elegance, all wrapped up in the way she's accepted to help Elsa right now. "You know you can confide with me on anything, right, dear?"

And just as Auntie says it, she has one hand reached out to grasp on Elsa's much lean, much colder palm and Elsa smiles, feeling her heart falling at the kindness. She's truly fortunate, she thinks. She could've ended up in worse situations, and yet fate — or something bigger — has her tied with one Primrose of Corona, and again, she thinks once more, she's so truly fortunate.

"I know, Auntie. Th-thank you."

Auntie nods, and takes her hand back when Elsa squeezes it. "Drink your tea first."

Elsa does as she's told, her chest warming up as the hot liquid travels itself down her oesophagus.

Auntie allows her to take her time, and then she puts her own cup down — precisely, gracefully. "What is it that you need advice on, Elsa?" And when she asks that, it is not out of mock — not in the way to suggest that Auntie's just asking so they could get over the conversation — and Elsa marvels for a second at the sincerity. Such a rare thing, she thinks. Or maybe she's just dwelling like that because she's been pondering on a certain sleazy Southern Isle-born young man way too much recently, and in every kind of act he's able to manage, there's one he's yet perfected: the act of being genuine.

Speaking of.

"Hans c-came over the other day."

Auntie Primrose looks on confusingly, but nods nevertheless. "That's… good, isn't it? I haven't seen you two interacted since — well, how long since it's been, honestly? I just thought he'd gotten busy. Anna told me that you've informed her that he was visiting his brothers."

_Yes, only for one week. What happens to the other three weeks, only God knows_. Are what Elsa choose not to say, smiling a little guiltily over the fact that she hasn't exactly told anybody of her… eh, fight with the youngest of Andersens. "Y-yes, but — but truthfully —"

"Elsa, honey, is everything okay?"

"Y-yes, yes, of course!" Elsa blinks and clutches back onto her Aunt's hands that are out to grip on her knees as a form of comfort and Elsa smiles a bit more, though all she feel inside is grief as she's reminded of the topic that had cracked her mutual affiliation with Hans, tearing them into these separate beings as though they've never met the other before. As though those times they've spent together was nothing but an active imagination of what could've been's. She misses him, she realises again, in an odd way.

Oh, she's still mad. She's still so, so dissatisfied with how everything went down — but there's a part of her that'd just like for those times where they'd wander in the Southern Isles' large compound, and they would just talk and yes, he would be judgemental and nasty and crude, but he'd also be … _charming_ in his own way; and he'd have this type of humour, the one that she shouldn't find funny, but it entertains her anyway. And he'd be somewhat decent.

And she misses him.

Elsa tries not to appear very gloom as she purses her lips, and tries to fix her next words without worsening any situations. "It's just that, over a month ago, we had a… we had a little fallout, Hans and I. And it's all his fault. And it's — it's a big … _big_ fight, Aunt Primrose. He hurt me v-very badly. And we didn't talk. For a whole month. And then… and then he came to meet me, and we finally sit down to t-talk and — and now I don't know — "

"Did he apologised?" Aunt Primrose suddenly inquires, and Elsa has to take a moment to register those question in, like it's the first time she's asked of it and she realises that it actually matters.

She rethinks of their conversation in the coffee shop with his long fingers and faded photographs, and she notices that — no, not once has he said he was sorry. It was implied yes ("_I don't expect to be forgiven…_") but there was no solid apology. And suddenly Elsa is reeled back with such realisation, feeling as though all of her worry this time was meaningless after all. He hadn't even apologised.

"Uh — yes, I-I think so." She stutters out anyway, blue eyes helplessly darting down as the world around her crashes upon her shoulders again. How _dare_ he. How dare—

"Elsa?"

"Yes." She would really like to believe that it's true, but it's not. And there you go: her first lie to her Aunt. And it's all thanks to Hans of the Southern Isles. "He did."

"And you're not ready to forgive him."

"I don't know," Elsa answers truthfully, now more clueless than ever. He's hurt her again. Even when he's not here to do it on his own. "I don't know what to do now, Auntie."

"Elsa, do you… _like_ Hans?"

She can't _stand_ him, when she thinks it over. But—

There were certain things and times, she can't deny, that has made her second-guessed so many times; her mind searching through the archives of her memories to pluck everything that contains Hans in it, and while some makes her squirm, there were others that… that makes the man low in her belly sets out the hummingbird feeling, letting the warmth spread all over; even to her lips, to allow her to smile, to cherish such things. Strings of sneaking glances and whispered laughter clashes into her train of thoughts, bringing along it were memories of cold ice creams on the edge of her tongue, the way his skin feels as it touches her knuckles, and the way he looks over to her sometimes.

The way he looks over and makes her feel good. Like she can do this. Like he has the faith of a billion men and one if that's what it takes. And it makes her feel like she's dancing on the top of the world when he'd look at her like that. Or she _could_, and nobody is going to stop her. Oh, such a gift to give to a girl like her. Maybe it's in his plan all along — to have her be so… attached like this, but still.

_Do you like him?_ The question echoes, and Elsa blinks, utterly defenceless, before looking down, like she's ashamed that she hadn't had this figured out — and if she were truthful, she hasn't.

Oh, if only her father could see her now. So intelligent, but with just one man — it's like everything she's learnt so far, it's gone to waste.

"Elsa?" Her Aunt prob softly, and something, aside from the warmth, clenches. Twists. _She doesn't know_, she wants to yell. _She doesn't know!_

"Elsa, it's okay." Her eyes open and it takes her a few moments for her to mismatch the image that, in front of her right now isn't the freckled, red-headed man who had broken — tarnished, _ruined_ — her trust, and they're not in a coffee shop, and he isn't looking at her with that kind of intensity that will haunt her for the longest of time and it's not him who's holding her knuckles in place and assuring her that he's there, and she's okay. No, in front of Elsa right now is Aunt Petunia with a look that Elsa has recognised way too much — the sad, pitiful glances everybody seems to be an expert at harbouring.

"You're just feeling too much," Aunt Primrose assured warmly, warm thumb slanting over the mountain of her knuckles graciously. "Hans is… I think, one of the first few friends you've made outside of your family. Of course you're confused."

"I don't—" Elsa feels the words twisting on her tongue, running around her neck and choking her. But all she needs is to breathe. Why must this be so hard? "I don't want to forgive him just because… just because I'm afraid of los—" She feels herself pausing, afraid of what she's going to say next but there's no denying it. It's there. It's on the tip of her teeth. She has to say it now. Or else none of these talk would matter. "…I'm afraid of losing him."

And no, she thinks to herself. She doesn't want that.

But she also doesn't want to get hurt.

And an unstable man like Hans — one whom she will never confirm the motives behind, not very clearly at least — she can't guarantee her emotional safety. So, how, she asks of you? How does one proceed in such situations, to be honest?

"Hush now, darling," shushes Aunt Primrose as she takes another hand and caresses Elsa's cheeks tenderly; in her green eyes that were to similar to Elsa's late mother, there are a kind of affectionate that Elsa doesn't think she can ever reincorporate, not that strongly at least, and for a moment, she allows herself to dwell on the guilt behind such realisations. "You come to me searching for answers, Elsa. But this time, I cannot tell you—"

"But Auntie—"

"Trust your own judgement. When it comes down to it, you'll know what to do — and with that decision made, you'll get by, Elsa. With or without Hans. You're so strong, you know." Auntie smiles one more time, warm and kind — a true smile Elsa has seen her perform tirelessly countless of times — and something in Elsa rumbles softly. There's turmoil, still, brimming like a storm wanting to roar, but it's better now. Somehow. Auntie's smile stays with her. "I believe in you so, so much."

She wishes she believes in herself just as much — but alas.

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><p>He doesn't call, doesn't show up, doesn't text. He doesn't intrude, and Elsa stops to expect him to.<p>

It still hurts, and everyday she wakes up, it feels like she's missing something. It's crazy, she thinks, of how much anxiety-inducing these circumstances is when he's not around. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Should his presence cause her to be on the edge of her seat? Instead, thinking of him in the corner with his confident smirks make her… make her wants to do _better_.

And now he's not here, she's just… _keep expecting him to be_. Is this normal?

She supposes he's not going through the same experience. He doesn't _miss_ her. Not when on that Friday, he shows up on tabloid with models by his hips. (Though it states there that he leaves early at the opening of the new club, _alone_. But who can she trust, really?)

The days go by.

Anna eventually stops asking about Hans.

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><p>It's rare for it to be raining down anywhere near the country when summer usually means hot, relentless sun glaring at the land as though the earth is its mortal enemy. But that one fine afternoon, the sun shivers and the clouds turn grey and the sky thunders as though somebody has wronged them, and Elsa is across the street and she's got some paperworks clutched between her side with her arms and she's holding a newspaper in her other free hand, trying to shield herself from her impending doom that is the unforgiving rain as she waits for the cars to slow their speeds enough so she could just cross the street and buy the famous bagels the coffee shop that she's currently staring at is famous for selling.<p>

"C'mon, c'mon," she mumbles to herself, tapping her foot impatiently as the sky gave out its thunderous cry again. She's got hours left till she could finish her reports — Ariel's closing the labs early tonight, and it would be inconvenient if she has to wait for three days, since today's Friday and then there's the weekends, till she could finish what she predicts is so close for her to discover. It'll work well in her thesis. She needs it.

Her professor would be proud.

Maybe she could even go to the expedition the up-coming year. It'll certainly be a new experience altogether.

And despite the looming atmosphere, Elsa keeps a secret smile to herself, excited at the idea before she realises that luck and fate is merely mocking her when, the second the cars seem to be slowing down to allow pedestrians to walk across, is when the rain begins to fall. Drizzling at first, like its testing the water, before it pounds, making an impactful marking on the streets while puny humans groan and curses it; and while others do just that, Elsa joins the small group which are jogging across the street to the coffee shop; the scent of hot, freshly brewed caffeine stings her senses nearly immediately as she comes closer, and while the rain continues to impose its statement, Elsa doesn't let the positivity she's had for herself strewn away — not yet, that is.

She shivers, suddenly feeling cold when all she's been for the past month is being captivated by the mighty sun. Elsa's prim fingers that are free from holding the now wet newspapers are then trying its best to move any of her platinum blond fringe from being stuck pathetically across her forehead, while her marches to her destination never stops. Just a couple of steps away and—

"Umph!" A woman gasps as Elsa bumps into her harshly and Elsa turns, panicking for that one millisecond, as stringing words of apology run by her mouth. "Oh g-gosh, I-I'm so — I'm so sorry — I didn't —!"

"Aw no, gorgeous, oh my — honestly, it ain't your fault. I should'va kept my head up." The woman smiles kindly, bright beautiful eyes glinting under the darkening sky and Elsa realises that, despite the light wrinkles forming by the edge of her eyes as she beams, suggesting that she may well be in her early 40s but her youth still stubbornly refuses to leave her, this woman is gorgeous. If one were to glance once at her, one would've made a guess that she might even come from a wealthy, typically snobbish family, what with her curled golden hair and designers high heels. But her behaviour towards the situation doesn't uphold to Elsa's first impression, nor does her foreign accent helps.

"Are you alright, darlin'? You ain't hurt anywhere, are you?" The woman asks again, one hand reaches out to touch and in her shining grey eyes, Elsa truly does see concern in them.

Elsa shakes her head, smiles a little. "N-no, thank you."

"Thank goodness. Well, we better walk carefully now, don't we? Don't want to fall on our asses the next time. Might get our dresses all wet, and ain't that just a nuisance." The woman drawls some more, makes a cheeky gesture where she tries to wrinkle her nose in fake disgust as she says the word nuisance and Elsa can't help but to smile a little. These kind of women are a gift to the world. The woman then proceeds to smile a bit more and flips one of her golden hair behind — but not in a prissy way. Just in a manner to suggest that the particular strand is bothering her and she's pulling it away to her own comfort. "I better get goin' now, honey. You sure ya' okay?"

"I-I'm completely fine, thank you."

"Alright, then. Remember, be careful! I'll see ya' 'round. Bye-bye!" And the woman waves, designer heels stomping down the road while Elsa is left to stare, before she breaks out of her own trance and finally walks inside the coffee shop.

Like any other people who've just walked in, they immediately shrug the water off their clothes and takes a minute to bask in the heat the coffee shop provides and that's exactly what Elsa did. She fishes her paperworks from under her arms to see the damage the rain has done as she slowly walks herself near where the long line to order the coffee starts. Discarding the useless newspaper which has served as her temporary umbrella, Elsa succumbs to the idea that, with this heavy downpour, it might be impossible after all for her to finish her work today.

She's fishing out her phone to inform Ariel that she will probably not be returning to the lab when she hears the familiar southern drawl coming back into her ears, "Oh, Hans, darlin', I forget to mention—!"

_Hans?_

Elsa looks up to see the same beautiful woman glancing into a certain direction and Elsa turns, fearfully, only for her eyes to be met with the intense emerald ones belonging to the person who has been a constant presence on her mind since the last time they've chatted, which was two weeks ago. And just like that, Elsa could feel her positivity melts away, like metal as it meets fire, helpless and vulnerable. Exposed and raw.

Hans appear shocked to see her there, as though this coffee shop would be the last place he would ever think to meet her, before he composes himself — stance cool and posture straight; gaze hard and mouth pursed. The beautiful woman marches forward to take the cups that are already ready in his heads; dips her head to inhale the scent and glimmers proudly, "Oh you _did_ remember to put the creamer as I like it. You're an angel, darlin', just a sweet angel."

Hans is unfazed however by the affection, green eyes still holding her blue ones in a heated contact, as he drawls in return, "I don't think you've grasped the true meaning of an _angel_." And then, because he's Hans, he throatily adds, "I am hardly one."

But the woman ignores him, stomping back to where she's entered, completely missing the intense staring competition Elsa is involuntarily having with the one person in the world who will forever continue to baffle her.

And then, just like that, with one more glance — and for that one critical moment, Elsa is fooled to believe that there might even be guilt in the way that he's currently looking at her, like _maybe_, there's a part of him that misses her too. _Genuinely_. — mutely, he turns around and follows the woman out. Elsa looks away defiantly after that, telling herself that it's okay. It's okay. It's just a coincidence.

And it's fine. _She's_ fine.

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><p>She realises as she's walking back to her labs with her coffee untouched and her bagel cold and the cold from the rain engulfing her, that she is most definitely, entirely, utterly <em>not fucking fine<em>.

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><p>It's disheartening. No. No. <em>Actually<em> — it's more than disheartening to the see the one person who should mean so much less to you, regards you without as much as a glance when they shouldn't so. Not only has it been such a completely disastrous bump-in, but it's one that makes her go crazy. She's so frustrated and exhausted and mystified and there he is — barely glancing at her like she's dirt itself; as though she's … she's the one who wronged him!

Which is why she finds herself driving to the stupid, _stupid_ Southern Isles' territory that she wishes for such a long time to not return — not in the short period of time, not when everything is still fresh — with her stupid car and her stupid determination and her stupid, _stupid_ depression that refuses to go away. Though this depression is a little different: this one is a stubborn kind. The one that will drive her to the steps of Hans' front door to let him know that she's entirely dissatisfied and demands so much more than a glance.

She could not, she tells herself, mean that little.

She cannot.

She won't allow herself to feel like that. Least of all, by him.

He'd have to know that. Even if it's true. Even if she probably do mean so little. She doesn't _care_. She will demand respect and she will have it. And this is what she's constantly feeding her mind as she marches and tries her best not to fumble into her step. Her mind is everywhere: constructing words upon words that are repetitively changing by the seconds as she come nearer and nearer to her destination, her lips murmuring sentences that aren't even in coherent English — wanting desperately to get her points across. She must look like an insane person!

One insane person that's too caught up in her head that she hasn't even noticed the group of mostly redheaded men crowding the Manor's main entrance, and one of them, noticing the flash of snowy white hair, frowns deeply in confusion, a flash of hesitance passing quickly by his eyes before it disappears and is replaced with a glint of something Elsa, given if she had notice, wouldn't have recognised to would ever flicker upon his expression. And, just like that, with a slight crack to his voice, his voice resonates — "Elsa?"

_Hans_.

Her stomach squeezes and suddenly the world is silent.

And everybody — _everybody_ — is staring at her.

There are six men besides from Hans who are staring at her, and all in their own odd ways. Mostly were primarily out of curiosity, one even had a glimmer of astonishment at her presence, some were confused and others were a mix of all three. For a moment, as though finally noticing the men he had seconds ago been huddling with, Hans appear irritated, rolling his eyes before pushing himself forward to stand outside of the group. "Elsa," he whispers again, gentler, like a holy call in the loneliest of nights but Elsa is too transfixed by the others' stares that she has barely noticed it.

_Too many_, she thinks. _Too many people_.

The earth spins on her, a little bit too fast for her own comfort and she nearly loses her balance, before she catches herself and hears Hans cursing.

"Benno!" The man in question yelps, looking over his shoulder to a disgruntled figure that seemed to purposely forgot to shave for days — not that the state was making the unshaven man any less attractive than he really is, because he is. If Anna were here, Elsa would imagine, she would endlessly giggle about how "bad boys" look _totally_ turn her on. Not that Elsa's particularly interested to know that in the first place, stuff like that just comes up.

_Benno_ — Elsa's recalling it now, that's Hans' sixth brother, the bachelor — seems to have understood the order when he immediately says something (Elsa is too dizzy to concentrate at this point) and round up the rest of the men to… to somewhere. Maybe to the inside of the Manor. Elsa isn't sure.

"Elsa—" His voice is more distinctive now; louder and clearer and Elsa snaps up just in time to realises he's coming forward to reach out to her hugging figure.

"Don't—" She has to force herself, cursing inwardly at how weak she is. She had been _so_ determined. And now she's a crumbled mess. No wonder Hans find her an entertainment. If she were crueler, she'd find this enjoyable as well. "Don't touch me."

"Alright." He sounds reluctant, but resigning to the decision in the end: keeping his distance near but never touching again.

Somehow that makes it harder for her to breathe.

"Elsa, _please_—"

"Shut up. Please. Just shut up!" She just needs to shut every other voices down. All those voices down that keeps on whispering about what Benno and Hans' other company must be thinking of her. She though she has passed this! She thought—

She's so weak. Why is she so weak?

And why is the world spinning so fast? Too quick? Does it wish to end her?

Does the universe hate her this much?

She's going to fall, she's sure. Faint right there and then. She can't breathe anymore and she's going to – _she's going to_—

"ELSA, LOOK AT ME!"

He's touching her. He's touching her, she realises. And how _dare_ he. Just when she had make it clear that she doesn't want to be touched. He goes on ahead and his hands — his long fingers and large palm — are curling around her shoulders in urgency and when she's looking up, ready to tell him off, there's a certain paleness to his expression that she doesn't think she'll ever see. There's darkness too, under his eyes, hidden well with some kind of foundation — like a lotion or something — that makes the freckles upon his face look more like a dreaded feature than attractive ones.

Has he looked this exhausted? Recalling back for that split second, she realises that he might have had. Even back in those coffee shop — how had she simply missed his tired glance? Is it possible that he's not sleeping? Could it be that it's happening so because of what happened to them? It can't, can it. It just — _can't_. He's not meant to care. He's meant to mock and tease and crudely points out things she wouldn't be appreciative to be pointed out upon.

And he's—

She bites onto her lips and feels so much because he's so close and why — _why_ is he looking at her that way? With so much concern? Isn't he supposed to be the bad guy? He _broke_ her ; this isn't fair — and she falls, hands reaching out around his body to clasp onto his back like a scared little girl holding onto the only thing that seems to be concrete enough to hold, and, surprisingly, his wide arms encircle around her and she could feel his hot breath hitting on her ears before — a second passes — and his nose is pressed onto the crook of her neck, his hold seemingly tighten as he does so.

This isn't fair, she bites to herself. He's acting like… like he _misses_ her.

Nevertheless, she holds back with just as much force, just so the trembling in her body would stop.

She doesn't know why she thinks he'd be able to give her that — some sort of form of solidity. Maybe it's because he's always been like a stone to her? A rock. Keeping her just where she needs to be, in his own wicked ways.

"It's okay, it's okay. You're okay." She hears Hans tell several times in a low whisper while he continues to hold her. Just hold her. "I've got you. I've got you, love."

He's so gentle now. So gentle, and it's becoming more than she could anticipate.

"Don't—" She tells him out angrily, the memories of what's happened in the coffee shop burning into her mind evilly, and she has to tell him now, she thinks. Before she loses her nerves again; tugging harshly on his white shirt. "—ignore me li-like that again. I'm not — I'm not j-just some girl y-you dumped and you ignore later, Hans. I'm not—"

"I know," he whispers back with such conviction, for a moment she has forgotten everything it takes to function. To breathe. "Never."

"I want — _respect_ and—" She struggles, screwing her eyes shut and telling herself to go for it. Say it. Just do it. She clutches on his shirt tighter, probably messing up her whole attire, but she doesn't care. It seems that he doesn't either. "—and not — I don't want to be treated l-like that—I'm not going to be _ignored_—when I'm—I know I'm so much more a-and you can't—you can't walk away on me like that and make _me_ f-feel like—like crap when it's you—it's you who made a mistake—a _big_ one, Hans—and I don't—you can't make me feel low because of something _you_ did and I don't—"

"Okay, okay…" He hushes some more and Elsa is wondering if this is the same man who had breached her privacy just early this summer and kissed her. He certainly doesn't sound like it.

"Don't make me feel like c-crap again." And now, tear edging at her lashes, she's staring at him, hands on his chest, his hands ready on the area at the back of her ribs.

"I can't—" He frowns. Hard. Green eyes burning down to his shoes like its personally done him wrong, and Elsa notes of how she's never seen him so conflicted before. She wonders what's going through his mind. (She ignores the twitching to her fingers — the one that yearns to reach out and tries to ease his mind with her fingers running down the side of his scalp.) "I can't promise you that. I'm not — good, Elsa."

"Then _try_," she demands, having enough of his bullshit.

And then she sees it, the determination — and it's hot and it burns and it's so, so green (so, so beautiful) — in his gaze before he locks his eyes with her again, his lips pursing as he finalises, "Alright." He tells her. "I will."

And then he hugs her again, and he sighs against her hair and she lets him.

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"I'm sorry," he says at last, warm, and for the first time, true.

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Elsa doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

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She settles with forgiving him.

* * *

><p><strong>End Note<strong>: 6,064 words. Apparently, a lot of things have transpire since the last time I was in the Frozen fandom, like, for instance, they actually have a book (a novel, actually), published officially by the Frozen franchise — called _A Frozen Heart_ — that tells a tale of Hans' background and his brothers. And it has been canonically stated that Hans was _physically_ as well as emotionally abused. This literally changes everything okay, guys. Like, now we see so much of why Hans is the way he is and honestly, that is such a beautiful sight. With that said however, please be aware that no matter how my heart would love to follow closely to canon as possible — I'm afraid it can't just be done. In my story at the very least, while Hans' brothers are a traumatic event for Hans to survive his childhood through, they're not so much as extremely abusive as they should've been. They're just asshole brothers that practises hate on one another more than they do with anyone else. I guess it's rather appropriate, when you think about it: since my story is set in a modern settings and Hans came from a wealthy family where practically everyone outside is involved in their lives, they can't really afford to have anybody spreading the fact that the clan is toxic within themselves.

There's always the possibility that it _could_ happen, of course, but nevertheless, in my story — it hasn't. To read more on Hans' background in this story, of course, you can read nulla which features a chapter narrated all in Hans' points of view between Chapter 7 and Chapter 8. Okay, enough with Hans' tragic backstory, the second news that has baffled me is that WE'RE TOTALLY GETTING FROZEN 2! I'm stocked. I'd love to see the cast hanging out with each other again, and I really do hope Hans will be apart of the new movie as well. Honestly, Santino Fontana (the voice of Hans) — who I've been stalking to get my muse for this story back — should have one more solo. Maybe even a duet with Idina Menzel! Who knows. Anything could happen. But no honestly, Santino is life, okay. You guys should totally stalk him too. Trust me, he's worth it.

I'm sure I have to address a couple more things but for now I'll only settle with giving a positive shoutout to adrilabelle, laura . lovedidi, spectaculater, helssa, Eyes of Onyx because all of your reviews mean the world to me. I seriously thought nobody else was interested in this story any longer but all of you showed up and it makes me feel very blessed. The same goes to those who have read without leaving reviews, those who have favourited, alerted etc. I thank you all! Please, have a nice day and I'll see you in the next chapter.

BELLA

**PS**: also, if anybody would be interested in beta-ing to this story — I ask that you must english well — please PM me and perhaps we could reach to a decision?


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